Blood and Chrome
by bucketofbolts
Summary: In 1978, a town called Libertyville played host to a motorized nightmare. Many died, and the cops were baffled. The body count ended in 1979, but the beast disappeared. Fast forward to the year 1998. In a town called Twangsville, in a county called Hazzard, a young man named Dodge Cunningham, through one little circumstance, is thrust into the path of the creature.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Angry words. Sneakers clumping out of a house, followed by a door slamming.

From outside a decrepit V-8 chugs to life, followed by the start of a freshly-tuned performance engine.

Inside a middle-aged woman, with graying blonde hair and a barely-there bump in her gut stood in her kitchen, a mix of pain and anger wriggling inside her as her husband, a man with slightly long black hair and a moustache stands trying to soothe her.

That was the scene at home when Mama laid down the law in response to a purchase made by my dentheaded brother.

If only there could have been some way of her already knowing how her words that night would affect our little family in the coming months and years.

Ah well, I guess it's all just red asphalt under the overpass. Still, I wish I'd have known a few things myself that fateful September day in '98, when, well, -I reckon I just ought to start on the day in question.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a dark, bleak morning the day I met them. My place was silent except for the moaning of the wind in the high-tension wires nearby and the heavy downpour.

I had been living on my own since '97, -ever since my uncle left me the house in his will after fatal stroke.

He'd been able to hold on for a week or so, but it took him out on Christmas morning, at exactly 8:05 A.M. Eastern Time.

He had been a kind, old man, with twinkling brown eyes and a snow white beard, and the best sense of humor a mortal man can possess.

Coupled with it all was a heart so big that if you were to have set a stethoscope up to it you'd have thought you were listening to an amplified ZZ Top album.

And ever since the day when he took custody of a ten year old boy from Libertyville PA, he'd done everything within his power to make sure that boy was loved and cared for, as well as hammering into the brain of the child every last ounce of his wisdom.

I couldn't help thinking of this as within the darkness of my room I lay, with my eyes staring wide open into the abyss, and my head throbbing with a pain unknown to science.

After all, its been said that if you think of something else, it takes the edge off.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case then.

The worst part was that it was 5:01 in the morning, and on a school day at that.  
I hated having to lose sleep to the pain, - but when you have to get up at 4:30 to have piping hot coffee in the thermos by 6:05, that's sometimes one of the dangers.

"You know," I thought dimly, "- some folks actually LOVE mornings. Of course, if they haven't got a gun or a fishing rod, or are even standing on pension-age feet, they're usually the ones that own a strait jacket".

This little spark brought a dry chuckle to my lips, but it went out as fast as it came when I remembered that there was in fact such a person in my school. Worse still, she was my Senior Lit teacher.

The bag-of-bones in question was a Forty Nine year old woman by the name of Ms. Mona Howard.

She was a mean, temperamental creature, with a car shredder for a tongue, and nitroglycerin running through her veins.

In addition to that, she had a penchant for turning a normal morning for anyone who got in her line of fire into a raging battle field of misery and despair.

And try as I might every morning to repress the looming nightmares that woman wrought as I lay beneath my old patchwork blanket, they just wouldn't die.

Luckily, every now and then, nature has a way to escape such things known as a blackout. And for another glorious hour that day it came and crammed the fearful thoughts back into their cage for a merciful ounce of extra sleep.

But then…

BWRRAH-BWRAH-BWRAAH-BR-BRAAH!

The sound of that Flip-plate menace that masquerades as my alarm clock liked to have given me a coronary. However, when it abruptly sailed off of my nightstand on the wings of my rusty left knuckles, it was me who had the last laugh.

Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, when that little beggar hit the floor the volume adjuster caught on a small nail that stood out from the base molding opposite my bed, with the infernal noise spiking, and my headache shooting through the roof.

It was that searing roar that pulverized any chance of extra Z's, but then heck, -what can you do?

And although my eyelids felt like dog doors weighted with stone, I carefully rotated myself around in my bed until my feet fell off onto the laminate, and then like Frankenstein's monster I slowly rose up until I was sitting upright.

With one last, hard look at my pillow, I heaved my scrawny frame onto my feet, tottering slightly with the rush of blood to my noggin.

From there I trudged about my normal routine, fighting that splitting pain all the way:

I showered, brushed, slicked my hair back, and then poked through my closet until I found one of my comfy denim shirts and a pair of dark blue jeans.

After I had changed I made my way downstairs in pitch black to my kitchen, where that pot of coffee was still nice and warm as I poured it into my jumbo-sized thermos, taking special care to mix it with just enough RC cola to cut the taste.

From there I simply strolled, with duffel bag in hand, out onto my screened-in side porch where I kept my old vynl jacket and my big Brahma boots, whereon I squatted down and put them on, and then I trudged out to my garage, with my handed-down glasses sliding down my nose, and those big sleds I call feet making deep holes in the mud.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

To describe the old garage would be like describing a building that had gone through a tornado. In fact, I think it may have once or twice.

The paint was worn off in wide swaths, the sliding doors creaked in their rails, and even if you opened them up full bore it stayed as dark as a coal mine inside, save for a meager 100 watt light bulb.

But, with the morning I was having it wasn't a surprise when I discovered that the thing had gone dead.

I went a little further, and that's when I found out that I'd forgotten to put up a heavy iron sawhorse, and that gravity was still working.

Luckily I was able to pick my butt up off of the pavement and continue my trek through the darkness, keeping one hand on my car.

One thing about my rig, -it was a survivor. In the Twenty One years of service, it'd done things that would scare a jeep, and it had the scars to prove it.  
Just feeling its cold, dented steel in the dark gave a bit of comfort as I eased in beside it, and when I got to the driver-side door I gently nudged it open and slid in.

Once inside, I threw on my seatbelt, slid in the key, and turned the starter over.

'Just my luck the silver bullet in the dark cloud struck again, and all I got was a dull whir, a couple of sputters, and then silence. I turned it over again and still nothing.

It was then that I saw something that ticked me off - the battery light was gleaming like a lantern, and I had no time to charge it.

This made me mad, because I knew right then that I'd either have to hitch a ride, or I'd have to walk the entire Ten mile stretch to the school house because my road wasn't on the County's bus system; that would make for an interesting conversation in my first class if I was tardy.

Sadly, the road looked empty, so I just climbed out, grabbed my stuff, and started hoofing it up the road through the howling rain.  
I know that may seem crazy, but with Ms. Howard's temper weighing on my shattered nerves I'd have sooner fought with a menstruating bear.

To this day I believe God had pity on me, because by the fifth soggy mile this dude happened by in an old, beat-up duster and he pulled over and gave me a lift.

The old pavement-roaster looked pretty well tuckered out, and the man at the wheel was an old fart with thinning hair, a broad paunch, and two upper teeth that parted like firebox doors, but with all the wind and lightening cracking around me, I'd have thought he had a pair of wings folded under his shirt.

**  
"So where are you headed in this mess?" he asked as we rolled along.

"Headed for schoo-...-headed for the garage.", I waffled.

I was telling the truth when I said that, but I wasn't about to let loose the fact that I wasn't due till late in the afternoon. I just said it because I ran the joint, and I wasn't about to let him know where I was really headed.

I think he knew this, because seconds later he said this;

"You don't have to worry about anything son. I'm a parent. Besides, you aren't the first person I've ever had to haul to school with me. The only thing I'm curious about is why you're out here on foot. ".

"Well Sir, I'll lay it straight:  
My car broke down, I've no one to drive me anymore, my road's not on the county bus system, and I've a teacher who hates my guts and knows where I live.

But enough about me. Did you say that you're in school?" I asked.

"Me and my daughter; She's going into her senior year and I just started teaching History. My name is Mr. Guilder, by the way".

"Oh, so you're the new guy, eh?" I said, remembering a school bulletin, "Well, it so happens that I've got your class".

By then we were already wheeling into the teacher's lot in back of the school.

"Really?" he asked, "What's your name?"

"Well," I drawled, the northern accent having long since dropped from my voice, "You can just call me Dodge".

"Alright; Nice to meet you man".

"Likewise". I said, extending a hand over the roof as we climbed out of the vehicle. We shook hands, and then he went towards the teacher's lounge and I scrambled towards the lunch room, with my skull on fire and my stomach catching.

The feeling didn't go away, -not even after I dumped Breakfast on it.

And though at 8:00 it felt worse, I went right on about my business. I went down one hall to collect my books, and then started bashing my way through the congestion get to my classes on another one.  
Unfortunately, traffic was heavy that day, causing a rise in my blood pressure, and I guess it made me haze out a little bit.  
That was bad luck, because otherwise I might've seen the chick in time to avoid collision.

To explain what happened was simple;  
I was going towards my first class, trying to plow through the gridlock that formed like foam in a rabid mouth, and I was still ticked about the events that came prior in the morning.

I was also afraid of being late, as I hadn't shook the pain yet, and if I was even a minute off getting to my first class, well, I told you about my teacher.

Anyhow, from what I can gather, I must have really been out of it, because the second I got what I took to be a clear shot, I jammed it in to Overdrive and stomped the gas. Little did I see who was coming up on my flank just as quickly.

Looking back it wasn't really a bad decision, but it wasn't exactly fun when a split second later I felt the impact, the force of which caused both parties to lose various bits of cargo.

We bent down to get our stuff, but before either had a chance to speak or see the other better, I got up my books and hauled off, afraid of what she might say.

Annoyingly, by the time I got to class I was four minutes behind the bell anyway because I'd been forced to pull off into one of the rest stops to 'Bleed the brakes.'

But when I entered the classroom I breathed a temporary sigh of relief, because I didn't think the teacher in question was around.

The only one I saw was this real neat old lady that treated me like I was family.

She was a nice woman by the name of Ms. Coralline Talbot.*

*It used to be Douglas, but her husband, Tucker, or "Big Tuck" as he was known in town, was called home abruptly in the late sixties. But I'd better not talk about that. That old lady might be reading, and it'd hurt her.

('Hurt me too, if she caught me. That woman may be 'old and slow' to my classmates, but I know better than to trust the "And slow" part. And those skinny fingers are murder on my ears.)

At any rate, Ms. Talbot was a tall lady, right about 5'9".

She had a big lump of silvery hair with black threads,(Which she still took the time to fix as I recall), deep blue eyes, and a wrinkled face that always had a way of showing her feelings like the glow of a forge.

And as far as her demeanor went, she was a riveted steel glove with kit-leather lining.

The cool thing was that I was the only one besides her and her family who knew about this, owing to the fact that near the end of my training I'd been pressed into making house calls with Fred, and her car, (a tri-tone '58 Edsel with a transplanted 429 Interceptor and five-at-your-side), was the very first one on our list of patients.

That's also how I came across my gut, because despite the fact that she had a ready supply of money from the various races she took part in to cover her tab Parts-wise, when it came to Labor we'd struck up a barter system, (our sweat and toil for her cooking).

"Good morning Mrs. Talbot". I said, with my headache lifting slightly.

"Good morning Dodge, nice to see you". She said with a half-cracked grin, but then suddenly she looked over my left shoulder, and began to fidget like she was trying to warn me of something.

A second later I felt a chill shoot up my spine, and I knew all too well what awaited me.

"Hello Dodge". Said a familiar voice; I slowly turned, and what to my tired young eyes should appear, but the very same teacher that my poor nerves did fear...

The only thing I could say was, "Hello Mrs. Howard.", and then she dug in.

"Why are you late?!" she said with a snarl.

"I had ca…" I started to say.

"Quiet!" she snapped, her eyes going wide, "I'll tell you why you're late. It's because you are useless!"

"Wu.." I asked in shock, because up till then I'd never heard her insulting me in the class room.

I'd heard her yell a lot, but this was new to me.

And it was only the beginning.

"Do you know how late you are? And why are your shoes dirty?" she squawked. Any minute I expected her head to start banging forward rapidly like an old hag I saw on television.

"I had to walk out to my garage. It was muddy". I said.

"And you just had to walk through every puddle, didn't you?!" she bellowed.

It was at that point that I looked over at Mrs. Evans with a look that could only be translated into, "What is this chick smoking?"

The only problem was Mrs. Talbot had disappeared. I could only hope that she had snuck off to grab either a Taser, or a sharp stake.

I then looked to my class mates, only to be greeted with the sight of almost twenty kids turning their sights away like they were hearing someone being whipped. It was like we were in some kind of remedial school.

My one thought was, "You bunch of…"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

It was then that something inside me twisted, because I had been taking her garbage for months, and I had always knuckled under.

But now, with her screaming in my ears my head felt like it had been placed vertically on the rails of a very slow log-splitter, and it didn't look like anyone was going to get me out of it.

And as dangerous as it would have been to confront such an unstable person, let alone one in a place of authority, I was literally about to cut loose.

And I'll give you a few reasons why.

You see, when Ms. Howard first started in, I had temporarily forgotten just why it was she was angry at me.

But then I remembered.

It wasn't because my boots were dirty, and it wasn't because of the four minutes.  
Heck, -it wasn't even temporary insanity making her flare up.

Instead, it was something completely different;

Back in the day, (two years and nine months to be exact), this woman was a wealthy divorcee with two nagging, whining, gold-bricking daughters, and all three of them lived in the house she'd gotten after she won the case.

You'd have thought she'd be happy, but no, she wanted more. And unfortunately she just happened to find a stout, older businessman in town, who happened to have a kid of his own.

And after a few weeks of dating, (and despite a great deal of warning from the kid), they tied the knot, the poor misguided man somehow forgetting the little old widow that stoked his boiler so well that he always waddled home.

Soon after, the three horse-faces of the apocalypse moved in, and a watered-down version of Hell followed.

For two straight years they ran the old man and the little boy ragged;

The boy was forced to work harder than ten entire chain gangs to clean up after the daughters, and the old man was forced to turn over every dollar he hadn't managed to hide to them, with fifty percent going to the queen bee.

The only time the man and the boy were ever alone together was when the demons were out shopping.  
That, or when the old man managed to pry the boy out to go to church, as well as to aid him in his garage, thus winding up the last of seven years of lessons.  
And it was because of those moments that the boy managed to grow into a certified born-again grease monkey.

But then darkness came, and the old man fell ill, and the little boy was forced to take his place. But did that affect anything else? Heck no.  
Ah, but the two men had their revenge. For when the old man passed on, he left the whole works to…well…

Unfortunately, beforehand she'd went to college and had gotten a doctorate in Literature and Physics.

And thanks to a little matter of blowing a good chunk out of a laboratory she was brought in to work with after graduation, she'd been fired by the research company that owned it.

She probably wouldn't have been able to find more work, but unlucky for me the county needed teachers, and in 1997 she'd applied and had been hired and was now hitting me on both the home and school front.

(At least at home I could slam the door in her face.)

Since then she'd been stoking a fire in me, it would have all come to a head that day if it wasn't for what happened next.

Because just as I was about to blow,…SHE stepped in the door,…with a stack of books clumsily perched on one hand, and a note from the counselor in the other…

Her hair was the color of a varnished Red Oak table, and her eyes were as green as fresh-fallen pine needles.

She had a figure like something I had only seen in an old pin up painting, and her legs seemed to stretch up to my chest, (which was thudding away like a turbocharged pile driver by this time).

And just when I didn't she could look hotter, I saw that her supple lips were pursed together in a way that raised the temperature just below my neck. And although Ms. Howard was still wailing away, I'd been dumbstruck.

As this vision of beauty strutted her way towards the teacher's desk, my eyes widened to the size of hubcaps, and I felt my jaw slam to the ground.  
In fact, if I hadn't seen have seen that battleax's jagged finger pointing towards my desk in my peripherals I would have remained completely static.

**  
I was simply ordered to go to my seat. And although in the back of my head I was still pissed, I had been hit so hard that I'd forgotten.

I loped on over to my seat with my lower teeth raking up floor lint, and sat right down in the hard plastic seat.

With the path now clear, the girl entered the room. And to my surprise, she was directed to the seat ahead of me.  
As she approached I saw a soft smile cross her face, and I saw those big emerald-greens glinting and arcing from behind her wire-framed specs.

"H-Howdy". I said, as she set down.

"Hello".

"What's your name?" she asked, giggling a bit at the fact that my eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates.

"D-D-D-Dodge". I said, - "W-W-What's yours?"

"My name is Guilder". She said, "Elvira Guilder".  
Just as she said this, Mrs. Talbot returned with the nurse, and after Ms. Howard was hauled off to take her medication, the lesson began.

"Elvira". I thought, "I like that."

Something in me twanged just then, and I knew in a blink that I had to ask this girl out...


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Well, by the end of the day, my headache had vanished.

The only trouble was when it left, it was replaced by a squadron of albatrosses who had skee-balled into my gut, and at the time were flapping around.

I didn't know what I was going to say, but I knew I had to move fast.

Surprisingly my chance came earlier than I thought, because right at the end of the day, just as I was coming out of the building, she was talking to Mr. Guilder beneath the weeping willow the school kept in the front yard.

I couldn't make out their conversation, but then I saw him playfully muss her hair and then turn and trot off, his course strangely pulling towards the left while she eased down against the tree to work on her homework.

"She must be that daughter he talked about". I thought, "Oh well, I'm still willing to risk it".

Shortly after this I remembered that I didn't know just what it was I was going to say, and in 1¼ of a second my nerves started twitching again.

After all, here I was about to speak to a sex goddess, and there I was just a midget scarecrow with jacked-up teeth and a stress-induced impediment.

As I drew nearer, I shakily raised a hand towards her.

"H-Howdy!" I said, with my heart thumping so loud I worried that she might hear it.

She looked up from her work, and I saw her lips pull into a cautious, but friendly smile.

What I didn't see was that chunk of root sticking up in my path.

It was then that I knew my day was going to get better, because instead of pointing and laughing, she instead got up and eased over to where I'd landed and helped me to my feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her soft voice like vocal aspirin.

"Oh, I-I'm alright". I said, dusting myself off, "J-Just d-didn't see the r-root that's all".

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you in time. I didn't see it either."

"It's Dodge, isn't it?" she asked.

"Y-Yes Ma'am. Hey, c-can I talk to you for a s-second?"

"Sure". She said, "What do you need?"

It was then that my mind like to have seized up, but then without thinking I said, "May I w-walk you t-t-to your c-car?"

At first she shot me surprised look. I guess she must have seen how nervous I was, because a second later she spoke again.

"Are you trying to ask me out?" she purred, with a look on her face that seemed to mix caution and curiosity.

I braced myself and asked, "Would you be m-mad if I said yes?"

She said, "I don't know if I should. This really is so sudden. Also, I just went through a break up about five months ago".

It was then that my heart sank like a soda can filled with water, because I'd heard such things before, and usually it translated into, "Buzz off, jackass".

I only managed to eke out an apology for my forwardness, and then I turned and started moving back the way I'd came.

But then, just as I thought my day had tanked, over my shoulder I heard her say, "Are you sure you'd want to be seen with someone like me?"

That brought me to a halt. I turned around slowly, and that's when I saw a nervous look on HER face.

"Any reason why I wouldn't?" I asked with a cocked brow.

"Well, I'm not exactly Christy Brinkley". She said, "In fact, it was because of that my last boyfriend left; His friends started ragging on him, and he left me to preserve his image".

"Well I guess we're both lucky on that point". I said, "Because I hardly have any friends, and the ones I do have are so old they'd applaud me for running with someone so nice, not to mention a knockout besides. "

"Knockout?" she asked, blushing lightly.

"Well yeah; but then again," I said, catching myself from sounding sleazy, "I'm not asking to go out on that fact alone.

I think you're also a nice person, and I'd like to get to know you better. If you'd l-like to go out, that is."

"I guess." She said, "When can we meet?"

I said, "Well, I got to go to work at the moment, but I'm only working part time today. Would 7:30 do?"

"Well you'd have to see my parents first. Is that okay?" she said.

"Alright". I said, "Where do you live?"

"Well I do happen to live a little ways out". She said, "Do you know where Jeopardy lane is?"

"I ought to. I live at the ten mile mark".

"Is that that two story place with the separate garage?" she asked.

"Why yes Ma'am". I said, "Why?"

"That's just a mile down from our new house. Well, it's not really new. It belongs to my stepmother".

"Well then I guess I won't have any excuse for being late". I said. I felt a strange feeling just then, but I was in too good of a mood to examine it.

Instead, I just added, "See you then.", and then we went our separate ways, with me thanking God all the way to open the garage.

I walked carefully as I was leaving town, but when I got a mile out I popped off the road and took off up a short cut Uncle Freddie had shown me, but I had accidentally forgotten that morning.

The work was easy that day. The only case I had was an inline six Chevy that'd been brought in for an oil change. And with all the excitement bubbling in my brain it only took thirty minutes.

When I was done I wiped off my tools and put them up, and after the lady paid her bill and left, I locked every door, and then trotted off down the path that connected to my back yard.

Once I got in the house I showered, shaved, put on a new shirt, made sure my hair looked alright, and then I put on a second pair of boots I kept in a box in my closet.

Then with an hour to spare I boiled out of the house and out to the garage.

Unfortunately, it was right when I was hooking in a new battery that the feeling hit again, and this time it explained itself;

You see, the person that owned that house up the road was the same one who'd ran my uncle into the ground…-(Think on that).

It was when that terrible realization came to mind that I almost considered forming an excuse to stay home.

But by that time I'd already hooked on the ground wire, and to boot, I wasn't about to let that old skeezix beat me out of what looked like having a dream come true.

So with the new battery under the hood and three-quarters of a tank, I cranked up the sheet-steel stallion and we wheeled out of the garage as smooth as an eel on Vaseline-coated ice, with the faded red paint twinkling in the evening sun, and the engine singing in growling, uneven bass.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

It was only 7:25 when I rattled into the Guilders' driveway, and just as soon as I got to looking around, I immediately began to scope out the nearest exits.

Of course, I knew that escape would probably be dang near impossible with three bulldogs guarding the gates, in addition to the possibility of a Charger-driving grizzly.

If it hadn't been for that buxom beauty in the midst of these creatures, I'd have either hauled off like a St. Canaveral rocket, or not came around at all.

But beings as things were the way they were, I found myself gathering steam, climbing out, and then before I could think twice I was at the door.

"WOOM-WOOM-WOOM" went my knuckles on the door. Having fists the size of baseballs gives one an advantage in that area.

"Who is it?" called a voice. I was just about to answer when Elvira's face nuzzled in between the curtains on the door. She looked out at me, smiled, and disappeared back behind the veil.

From out on the porch I could hear voices, but I couldn't make out any of them…except one.

"Could you explain how it is you found a boy so quickly? And why are you going out tonight? I made Meatloaf".

"Crap". I thought, "I thought she gave up making that sludge ".

I ought to mention that Ms. Howard was the world's worst cook, and the crowning horror was a ground-beef and Wonder Bread concoction that would have scared the makers of a creature feature.  
Of course, it would also kill anything short of a human being, and my dog Walter's grave is evidence of it actually doing so.

And I just thinking of this when the door flew open and one of THEM came in to view.

This one was named Holly, and she was the elder sibling. She was short, blonde, as scrawny as a malnourished Chihuahua, and as mean as a rattlesnake passing a pinecone,(with the big end pointed towards its mouth).

All it took was one peek at me and she snarled her nose and laughed.

"MOM!" she squealed over her shoulder, "Look who Flabberella found, - old RD Worthless!"

"I see you've made a joke with my name. Well isn't that special". I thought quietly as she tottered away, and by that time she cleared,the head witch was bearing down on me.

"Well, well, well". Said the walking feather-duster as she slithered to the door, -"Look what's on my doorstep. What's the matter? Did the inbred convention abandon you?"

"Naw. I just met some buzzards in my yard, and they asked me to come up and fetch their leader". I drawled.

"Don't try to be witty". She crowed, "After all, if intelligence was money, you couldn't afford a bread crumb".

"And you must have had to take out three mortgages to know how to breathe". I huffed, "Now little boy, -can I talk to an ADULT?"

"What's going on?" said a voice from behind me. I turned with a jerk, and there was Mr. Guilder with a load of groceries in his arm.

"Oh, hey Mr. Guilder". I squeaked, "How are you?"

"Pretty good, Cunningham, pretty good". He said, a puzzled look on his mug, "Now, -what brings you here?"

"Well, aside from your daughter, nothing. As far as my being out on the porch I was just making small talk with your little woman here. We used to be family, see".

"Really?" he said, "Huh. Hey, -is that your car?"

"Yep". I said, hooking my thumbs in my shirt pockets in pride, "Seventy-Four Chrysler wagon. Nice, ain't it?"

"What kind of mill you running in it?" he said.

"A 440 Hemi with a four pot carb and twin pipes. It's done 0-60 in 9.5. Of course, I haven't had a chance to tune it up again yet".

"Why does it look so dusty?"

"My uncle accidentally parked it down wind of a brush fire with the paint still wet; Lord rest his soul".

"You know, I once knew a guy with a car nearly that color . He's dead too". He said.

"Who cares? Now will you two apes quit grunting and get in here?" interrupted Mrs. Guilder.

Rather then cause a fuss, I bit my tongue and followed Mr. Guilder on into the house.


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

"So, what's on your mind?" Mr. Guilder asked while he was waiting for dinner.

I said, "Well Sir, if it ain't too much trouble, I'd like to take your daughter out".

"Which one?" He asked.

"Elvira, Sir".

"I don't know". He said, his face going thoughtful, "Where do you plan to take her?"

I said, "Oh, just a little diner downtown I know about. I promise, I'll have her back before Nine".

"Well, would you mind telling me a bit about yourself first?"

"Alright". I said.

"What do you do for a living?" He asked.

"I work at a garage just down the road. I've just finished work on a Chevy C-10 as a matter of fact".

"A mechanic? That's good. But wait a second; I didn't see any garage down the road."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, it's situated a little ways out behind my house; about 24 yards to be exact. But the main entrance is a good piece further."

"Where exactly is it?"

"Well I'll tell you. Did you happen to see an green '59 Cadillac with cinderblocks under it on your way to school today?"

"I did". He said.

I said, "Well the entrance is just across the street. We put the caddy out there as a sort of marker".

"Oh". He said, "Well I'll keep it in mind. Now, do you play any sports?"

"Well I bowl here and there, but only when I'm not in school and I haven't got a case".

"That's good". He said, "Now would you mind if I ask who your parents are?"

"I guess. But I don't think you'd know either of them".

"That's okay; just tell me who they are". He said.

"Well my mom's name was Regina, and my Pop's name was Michael. But I don't like to talk about them much. See, they've been dead for a few years now."

It was then that Mr. Guilder went silent, looking as though he'd caught a chill. For a moment I thought I'd stuck my foot in my mouth.

"Are you okay?" I asked after almost a minute.

"Oh, I'm fine". He said nervously, "Just a little twitch in my back".

I knew he wasn't dealing straight on that, but I just moved on.

I said, "Well, is it okay for us to go out?"

"Huh?" he said, "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. Just be careful".

"Yes Sir". I said.

"Did he say yes?" said a familiar voice from out of the blue.

"Yep". I said, looking up towards the voice, "Are you rea….."

I couldn't say anymore, because at the top of the stairs stood an even better version of what I'd seen in the doorway of that cave I called a classroom.

She was now wearing a light yellow blouse that seemed to mold itself gently to her curves, and below that a long, wide river of faded blue denim ran down to a point just a few inches above her feet.

Her hair now looked as silky as half-melted ice cream, and it seemed to curl over and behind her shoulders like non-toxic smoke.

As she walked cautiously down the stairs I looked into her eyes. As she drew nearer I saw them shimmer as they quietly searched my face for approval. They would have seen that approval too, had I not been trying like scoot to keep it together in front of her old man.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, her shy voice sounding as soft as a baby's breath.

I tried to speak, but all that came out were a garbled wreck of noises that made me sound as though I were short-circuiting.

"I guess that'd be a yes". She said, a playful smile crossing her lips.

Unfortunately about that time old Prune-face slunk her wire-thin frame back in from the kitchen.

"It looks like Mr. Loudmouth is finally quiet. Look Dennis, you can actually see the curly tail tucking in behind him" she said, her gnat-sized eyes shooting lasers at my head.

"Well if he'd look a little closer at you he could see that box of eggs under you". I thought.

"So tell me Dodge, - what grease pit will you be taking my stepdaughter to? Will it be some place cheap, or will you splurge and take her to the 7-11 deli?"

I started to say it'd be the Chicken Pit out on Highway One, along with a remark about how it would remind Ellie of her new mother.  
But with Mr. Guilder still in earshot, I instead restricted myself and uttered a destination listing for The Stop'n'Go Diner through clenched teeth.

"Oh, so you're playing Daddy Warbucks? Well, I have one thing to say…" she said, sticking a foot out and stabbing one of her size 4 heels into my foot, "…You bring her back before Nine, or I'll do things to you that would make Ozzie Osborne vomit."

At this point Mr. Guilder stood up and walked over.

"Take it easy Mona." He said, slowly easing a hand onto her shoulder, "He looks like a good kid. You are a good kid, aren't you?"

"Yes sir." I said, "In fact, your daughter's the only girl I've ever been able to coax into a date. Usually I'm either too busy, or they just don't favor me".

"Well do you promise to bring her home on time?" he asked, an easy smile on his lips.

"Yes sir". I said, "I'll stake my life on it".

"You'd better watch your tongue". Snapped Mona, "Or I might hold you to that".

I saw a nervous look in Mr. Guilder's eyes when she said that, but he somehow managed to hold in the fear.

Instead, he just said, "Well you two go on and have fun.", and then he signaled us to the door.

I let Ellie go out first, and then I motioned him over.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I have to tell you something". I hissed, "Now bend down here so you can hear me".

He bent over and I said, "Now, before I go, I feel I should warn you about your new wife".

"What's wrong, besides the hatred she looks to be aiming at you?" he asked.

I said, "Well it's only that I once had a dog, and thanks to her meatloaf he's been dead for nearly three years. I can't stay and chat, but I advise you to eat a sandwich instead".

"Alright". He said, and with that I left, moving clumsily, but with enough spirit to kill an elephant.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

You know, they say the first date's usually the one where the trip to the destination wrecks your mind. And who am I to rebut that?

Because to put it simply, as that 440 rumbled away under the hood, the air in the cab was almost deathly quiet, with neither Elvira nor I able to speak out of shyness.

At one point I tried to say something, but my mouth felt like it had cotton shoved in it.

When I finally did force a word, the only thing I could say was, "Are you enjoying the weather? I hear Fall's around the bend."

"Yes". She said, "And it's a good thing that you said that. Autumn is my favorite time of year".

"You d-don't say". I said, "Its mine, too".

"What's your favorite part?" she asked.

I said, "That's an easy one. The cold weather."

"How's that?" she asked, seemingly interested.

"Well you see, when the weather gets too warm, I always overheat. And when I get that way I get sluggish and cranky. Cold weather snaps me back to normal. But then, what do you dig about it?"

"Oh", she said wistfully, nuzzling her head up against the window and looking out at the scenery whipping past, "I guess it would have to be the colors. It's just such an exciting thing to see the trees go from green to red".

"Not to mention the holidays are coming up". I added.

"That reminds me," She said, "Do you think it'd be okay if we stopped off in town? I've got to get some wrapping paper".

"So soon?" I asked, "Why, it's only September".

"I know that". She said, "But buying it a good piece before Christmas means not having to screw around with dealer markup".

I started to question this, but instead I just said, "Okay. Where do you want me to take you to get all of this?"

She said, "Well, there was a gift shop in town. I guess that's the best place for it".

"Well do you want to get it before, or after we eat?"

"After sounds good". She said. Lucky for me we'd just rounded the corner across from the restaurant.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Now, the Stop'n'Go diner had started out life as a Pullman dining car, the same as a lot of its breed. The difference was, instead of trucking it into place, the owner, a man by the name of Roy Rhodes, had instead just bought a scrapyard and cleaned out the extra track.

Heck, if you were to sit at the far right corner of that joint you could actually see an entire o-4-0 Alco tank switcher parked under a roof, along with a little pup caboose that he'd fixed up for the kiddies.

If you don't believe that's sensible, then you've probably never saw the life-size dinosaur statues near that joint out in Nevada.

**

"What'll you two have?" asked our waitress as we settled down to eat.

I looked over at Ellie and said, "You go on ahead. I haven't figured my order out yet".

"Well," She said, with a strangely familiar accent, "I'll have the chicken soup with a pack of crackers, and an unsweetened tea to drink".

I was a little surprised to hear this, but then again I just figured that being so new to the land of cotton, she hadn't met with the joy of sweet tea.

"What'll you have?" the waitress asked, turning to me.

"I reckon I'll just have a buttermilk waffle, a side of charcoal bacon, a small bowl of buttered grits, and a cup of coffee to wash it down.".

"We're out of bacon. And how do you want the coffee?" She said.

"Well okay, I'll just have some scattered hash browns. And I'd like my coffee straight-up please.".

"Okay." She said, "I've got a chicken soup with crackers, a buttermilk waffle, scattered hash browns, a bowl of buttered grits, and black coffee and an unsweetened tea to drink. Is that right?"

"Yes ma'am". I said, glancing back at Ellie to make sure.

"Your order'll be ready in a couple of minutes". She said, and then she went on about her business before I even had a chance to thank her.

**

"This seems like a nice place". Ellie said, surveying the grounds.

"Yeah, its something ain't it? It's some of the best food you could ever have in this life, and better still they have a jukebox." I said, motioning over to a large, boxy Rock*Ola, the old-fashioned kind that allowed you see the working parts through a big window.

Fun fact; a local legend said that it'd fallen off of a shipping truck bound for some rat-hole roadhouse, and it'd been hidden away until the statute of limitations ran out.

Of course, the truth of it was that old man Rhodes had gotten it as a Christmas gift from his son Steven in Chicago, (but the rumor had a bad way of sticking, even though the truth had been posted years before I came down south.)

"Does it work?" Ellie asked.

"Umm-Hmm". I said, "Would you like me to punch something in?"

"Yes please. I like music when I'm eating out".

"I'm kind of that way myself". I said. By then I was already groaning out of my seat, quarter in hand.

There were a lot of great songs on that old git-box, but with only one quarter on me and no cash slot on the machine, I honed down the range until I found a handful of tunes, and then I wound that down to the top five.

I wound up putting in a slow, easy instrumental by Duane Eddy, a whooping piece by Jerry Lee Lewis, a ballad by Percy Sledge, and to top it off two Patsy Cline songs, though not exactly in that order.

When I finished, I lingered a bit to watch the record selector do its job, and then I stumbled back to our chair.

"I didn't know you liked the oldies". Elvira said as Ms. Cline's voice filled the diner.

"Oh, it's just something I've taken to. My uncle used to play 'em a lot when he was alive, and something about that stuff just seems to click for me too.

Of course, I also listen to Gospel, Bluegrass, Classical, Blues, and a little bit of rap. What do you like?"

"Well, let me think". She said, "I'm mostly into literature these days, but when I was younger I used to listen to a little Rock in the car, but that's about it. My dad usually made me listen to his eight-tracks.

The strange thing is, even though he listens to old stuff himself, he always skips through the oldies station like it would hurt him to hear it".

"Well, have you ever asked him why?" I said.

"I've tried, but he usually changes the subject". She said. It was around that time that the waitress eased up to the table with our stuff.

*

The food was pretty good that night, and after I paid the bill we stepped into the parking lot.

The air outside was crisp and cool, and a playful breeze shunted a couple of leaves around like miniature kites broke loose from their strings.

The sun was just hunkering down behind the trees, and we could see a few stray stars twinkling in the early autumn sky.

"It's such a nice night out." Ellie said, her voice so smooth and soft it could have put me to sleep.

"Yup". I said, "Of course, it looks a lot better towards the start of winter. The air's a lot clearer then".

Out of nowhere, I felt her hand slide into mine, causing my heart to lurch and my mind to haze.

"Do you think it's still open?" she asked.

"Wdjee…Huh?" I asked, suddenly snapping back into reality.

"The gift shop", She said as we climbed into the car, "Do you think it's still open?"

"Oh". I squeaked, "Uh, I'm not sure. I haven't really been to it. I think they close at five".

"Oh well". She said, "Maybe we can go tomorrow, if you want to go that is".

I perked up at this:

"Y-You want to go out with me again?"

"Why, are you busy?"

I said, "Well, a little, but if you don't mind riding around in a third-hand wrecker, I'll let you come with me on break-down patrol.  
That way, I can show you the sights and you won't have to wait till I get back. Is that okay?"

"Sounds okay to me; what time should I be ready?"

"Well," I said as I cranked my machine into life, "I figure about Seven Thirty tomorrow morning, maybe Eight. That way I can get some groceries down my neck and make my pre-route checks".

"Are you sure your boss'll let you take me along?" she asked.

"I'm fairly sure…I'm the only one running the joint".

"Really? How?"

"It's a long story". I said, heaving a long, low sigh as thoughts of my uncle flicked through my brain, "I guess I can tell you while we're out and about tomorrow.

That is, if that old bat you call a stepmother lets you out of the house".

By that time we were just pulling up in the Guilders' driveway. It was right about then that I thought to check my watch. Luckily for me, when I looked down at my wrist, it was only 8:57.

"I'll see what I can do". She said, "Now, will you kindly escort me to the door?"

"Yes Ma'am". I said eagerly.

I helped her out, (turning myself around as she climbed out, even though her skirt was almost at her feet), and then with almost a strut in my walk, I eased her up to the doorstep.

"I reckon this is Good Night". I said, "Did you have a good time?"

"Well, it was alright, but it might get a little bit better if…"

"If what?" I asked. When I did, she flashed me a coy smile, and my heart took off like a Percheron at full gallop.

She said, "I know it's only the first date, but may I have a little kiss?"

It was then that every nerve in my body started humming like a jet engine, and I began to sweat badly.  
I tried to talk, but once more the only thing that came out of my mouth was the soundtrack of a car radio eating a cassette tape.

To this day I am thankful that she didn't just break down laughing. Actually, she did something completely different.

"You're nervous, too, huh?" She asked.

I tried again to force the words, but embarrassingly I had to resort to nodding my head slowly like a kid admitting that he'd busted a window.

"Well, I guess we could wait if you want to". She said, and then she turned towards the steps.

"Elvira…" I squeaked.

"Yes?" she said, turning back to me.

"Um…" I said, biting my lip.  
I knew I only had one shot at this, so I gently extended a trembling hand, which was met with hers, and then I carefully took her in my other arm, eased her close with my hand cradling her head, and then with my lips twitching like Elvis with the DT's, I creakingly eased her into a dip.

It was then that I lowered my lips onto hers, taking great strides to treat her as though she were fine china.

I first gave her a little peck, and then I lifted up, cracking an eye to check for danger. I was met with a meek smile, and then out of nowhere she gently pulled me down into a sweet, passionate kiss.

*  
Her perfume wafted into my nose, causing me to feel as though I were drunk, and her lips felt to mine like the soft underbelly of a puppy feels to the hands.

Her breath tasted like fresh, warm honey tea, causing my knees to shutter, and then relax.

Her curving, mile-long body felt like I was in an embrace with a brand new pillow that had just been taken out of the dryer, and I could feel her heart beating against mine through my coat.

*

I could also feel an extra set of eyes on us as I lifted her back up to her full height, but I didn't even crack a peek as I gave her one last embrace for the evening.

"Good Night, Elvira". I said, my voice sounding strangely smoother than the lawnmower growl I usually spoke with.

"Good night, Dodge". Ellie said, with a strange, breathy ere.

About then I looked into her eyes once more, let out a bottomless sigh, and found myself smiling in a way I hadn't in two years.

Just before we turned away, I glanced around her shoulder just long enough to see Mrs. Henny Penny giving me the evil eye from the doorway in her $200.00 robe and pajamas.

It was then that a playful grin etched itself from ear to ear, busting my cheeks in half.

Then just to kick her, I hugged Ellie again good and tight, turned, and walked away. No, check that; I STROLLED away, with a swagger in my gate, and whistling like a songbird.

I could still see her on the porch as I backed my car out of the driveway, but I didn't care, because I knew that I now had a good girl to love, and that raggedy old gold-digging witch didn't scare me anymore.

And as I eased into my bed for the night, I thanked God for Ellie, and then fell right to sleep.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

'BWROOWNK-BWROWNK-BWROWNK-BWROWNK –BWROWNK' went my reserve alarm clock the next morning.  
I started to bat it off the dresser like I had the other one, but then I remembered what good things lay in store, so I just pressed the snooze and heaved out of bed.

I hauled off and flew about my Saturday morning rituals, first showering and putting on new clothes, and then rushing down to the kitchen to fix my usual breakfast, which consisted of a few strips of scorched bacon that smoked up the house, a mug full of twice-brewed coffee from what had been held over from the day before, two fried eggs, and a piece of dry, wheat toast.

From there I thundered along under cool, clear skies on the little path my uncle had cut out to the garage's parking lot.

Now, the big garage was a lot different than the mangy little one I kept the Wagon in, and a lot more welcoming.

It had a wide, cement floor covered with grease stains so old rumors were that they'd been there since the B.C's.

In and around the stains stood tall, broad tool chests filled with equipment both factory-made and hand built by Uncle Fred, which could all be used for every job imaginable.

In the center of the floor were two grease pits that were put in in place of lifts, and in one corner of the concrete expanse, under the grimy dust cover I put over it at the end of each day, was my wrecker.

'Now, when I said this thing was third hand, I should have said 33rd hand.

It was a 1956 Mack B61 bobtail that Uncle Freddie'd retrofitted with a tow boom and a winch.  
It had a straight-six Detroit diesel engine that'd been rebuilt at least seven times, hydraulic brakes with a manual master cylinder, a battle ship gray paintjob, and a Cobra CB that had enough added juice to make contact with Britain.

It'd been placed in my care when I inherited the business, and I kept it running and looking as good as a Swiss pocket watch.

I began my inspection with two laps around with a wrench in my hand, tightening anything that looked loose. Then I crawled under to poke at the engine block and oil plug, which thankfully proved fruitless.  
After that I checked the fluid levels and tested my lights, with both checks catching a solid A+.

I then tried the radio, and as I expected, I was soon picking up the BBC, which ended my inspection.

You thought I was stretching things there, didn't you? Nope.

I cranked the engine and it started with a roar, and I rumbled across the concrete, managing to get the six-speed transmission into fourth by the time I hit the doors.  
Of course, just as I got outside I had to pop it in neutral and hit the brakes so I could get out and shut them, but other than that…

Inside of five minutes I was idling into the Guilders' driveway yet again, digging out on the radio and smiling like a beaver.

I brought the rig to a stop, set the handbrake, and hopped out, strutting up to the porch.  
I eased up on the porch, sidled up to the door, and cut loose with a short blast of knocks that rattled the windows.

"Hang on" said a voice. From inside the house I heard footsteps. I checked my watch, and luckily I was on time yet again.

I was in for a surprise, because instead of one of the creatures from the short-hair lagoon, it was none other than Ms. Ellie herself, in a denim jacket, a white halter top and a pair of shorts just barely able to pass parental regulations.

"Good Morning". She said cheerily.

"Morning". I said, straining to keep my jaws from cracking the porch and straining to keep my eyes in their sockets. (Of course, I was also mentally giving myself a cold shower, but that's beside the point.)

I didn't know how it was possible, but this chick had some kind of power that made her able to look three times hotter every time I saw her.

"Is that your truck?" she asked, looking over my shoulder.

"Well yes ma'am it is". I said, "Now, are you sure your folks are fine with this?"

"Mona's not too fond of the idea". She said. And with the way she said her stepmother's name I could tell that she'd already gotten a taste of that scrawny hag's venom.

"I'll bet". I said, "Well now, is your old man fine with it?"

"Yep". She said, "Of course, He told me that I'd have to check in with him while we're out. Now, is this an okay outfit, or is there something wrong with it?"

"Well, there is ONE thing you could do for me". I said.

"What would that be?" she asked, a wry smile on her lips.

"Well, it concerns those shorts you're wearing". I said, sounding far older and clearer minded than I was at the moment.

"If we were riding in the car, I'd love them. However, what we're dealing with here is a set of threadbare seats with springs that'll get you as sure as a rattlesnake.  
I wouldn't dare allow you to sit in those things with your legs exposed like that.

It might not seem like much, but if you get hurt, it's my tail in a sling and your ears in the path of your stepmother's voice".

"Sounds like a raw deal". She said, "Okay, just give me a second and I'll change".

She then disappeared back into the house, and returned wearing a pair of snug, patched-up jeans that made my collar burn.

"Happy now?" she asked.

Rather than replay the end of our date the night before, I simply nodded and walked her to the truck.

****

Ah, the open road and its charms...seeing trees and houses roll by at 35 miles an hour…and listening to the loud, low growling of a Detroit diesel because the AM radio had faded to static…

Of course, that paled to the soft-voiced knock-out riding shotgun. It was all I could do to keep from pulling over and hauling her into a necking session.

After three minutes of quiet, she spoke.

"Dodge?" she said, having to talk over the engine.

"What?" I bellowed back, easing off the throttle to hear.

"What is it you said you'd tell me today?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She said, "You said you'd tell me how you got your garage".

"Oh," I said, easing the rig to the shoulder of the road. I turned off the engine, gathered myself, and then I began.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Well," I said, with a ponderous sigh, "I guess I'd better give you the short version. Otherwise we'll be here all day".

"Just tell me what you can manage". Ellie said.

"Well," I said, "To start with, I haven't always lived in Georgia. I was born and raised in Pennsylvania, up until eight years ago".

"Of course, I'd already lost my mom and my big brother, and on the day I was born no less".

"What happened?" Ellie asked.

"Well, mom died trying to drive herself to the hospital, and my brother died doing something at a garage. My dad never told me just what that was, but he did tell me that he died flying through his windshield.

Mom, on the other hand, got run off the road by some nut-job. If it hadn't been for a trucker who happened by just after the nut left, we'd have both went. Mom was gone when help arrived, but they saved me.  
The worst part was that the hospital was just a mile up the road.

They never caught the creeps that did it, but they DID manage to identify a few sparks of autumn red paint from the vehicle they used".

As I said this, Elvira seemed to have a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, "Oh, it's nothing really, just something I remembered seeing back in my home town. I'm from Pennsy, too, incidentally".

"I thought I heard a touch of steel country in you. But anyhow, what was it you saw?"

"Oh, it's just that I remember seeing a picture of an old friend of my dad's, and it so happens that there was a red car behind him".

This little bit of wisdom managed to spark a few thoughts in MY mind, as I remembered seeing a picture of Arnie on our mantle, and it sounded pretty close to what Ellie was describing.

"May I ask you something?" I said.

"What?" Ellie asked.

I said, "Well…hmm…Uh, that car in the picture, did it happen to have a white check mark on the side?"

"Yes, I think it did".

"Well I guess that thought checks out then". I said rubbing my jaws, "I don't know how to say this, but that man in your picture was my brother. And if I'm thinking clear enough, he died in that car".

"I'm so sorry". Elvira said.

"That's not the half of it". I said, "You see, it wasn't enough that my brother died without ever seeing me, but then the police had to go and try to pin my mom's killing on him.

That car had the same paint color they found on my Mom's Volvo, see. Luckily he was in the ground by then. But then, maybe it wasn't, because the investigation dragged on until it drove my dad bug-smoke".

"How terrible", Ellie said, and then she changed the subject. "But now, how'd you get to be here?"

"Oh that's easy". I said, "When I hit my tenth birthday, the cops were still lugging the case around.  
With all the strain my dad had a meltdown and swerved his Porche into the grille of a Freightliner. I remember because I was down here for a visit when my uncle got the call.

A few days of paperwork later, I was placed in his care, thus beginning my eight years of naturalization with this part of the country.

And I'll tell you this; those were the days". I said, "In just six years my uncle taught me more stuff than dad taught me in ten. And what's more, he just about kissed his own butt trying to give me better memories. Sadly, just two years ago, that too changed for the worse.  
My uncle got re-married, and that was the beginning of the end. He died Christmas morning just last year".

"My condolences". Ellie said.

"Actually, I should be feeling sorry for you Ellie. Because that old bag is your stepmother, and I'm not even going to tell you what that witch can do".

"Is that why you look so angry when she's around?" Elvira asked, a twinge of pity in her voice.

"Yep". I said, looking down the road to hide my eyes, "Of course, while it ain't in me to hate her, she hates me. Because when my uncle shuffled off, he left me everything, including my car and this wrecker, along with the house and the usual stuff.

Since then her and those sisters of yours have dogged me at every turn, and I fear they might do the same thing to your dad and you if you're not careful".

"Oh, I think we'll be okay". Ellie said, "After all, we got through alright when MY mother died. I think things will work out".

"Wait. Your mom's dead too?!" I asked, my brows shooting up.

"Ten years this month". She said, "A crack head blew her away while she was emptying her register at Holman's department store".

"Holy Crow!" I exclaimed.

"The worst part, as you say, is that the store was on the same route as the university dad was teaching at.  
He somehow kept it together whenever we passed it, but you could tell it changed him.  
The day that I could manage alone, He started riding the road, volunteering to teach every seminar he could catch through the school.  
Up until a month ago I thought he'd never snap out of it, but then he called and told me about a woman he'd met at a banquet. A few weeks later he returned with a marriage license. The rest is history".

It was then that the cab of that truck turned as quiet as a morgue. It seemed as though a wave of mourning had washed over us.

I could hear Elvira sobbing at her memories quietly into a Kleenex she'd pulled out of a box I kept on the dash.  
Me I just watched the road, scrutinizing the details of every car that sailed past us.

After a few minutes of silence, I spoke up.

"Well," I said, "I reckon I'd better crank this buggy up and get back to work".

"Hit it". Ellie said calmly, drying her eyes.

The engine started smoothly, and we pulled back onto the road.

***

There was only one case that day, and the weather was cool and cloudy.  
The only thing that made it bad was that the patient was a Geo Metro, a tiny hatch back with a snapped timing chain that hurled images of my knuckles being broken at me as I was hooking it up.  
I could only thank God that its engine wasn't one of those types that self-destructed when the chain snapped, otherwise I'd have had to deal with the hateful beast even longer.

Later that day, after the owners of the car left the garage in a taxi, Ellie and I settled down to a late lunch in my office.

To ease any feelings that were left over from our time on the side of the road, I cranked up a little Seeburg counter-top jukebox my uncle had installed to listen to when we worked together, which meant it was used a lot.

As we sat down on opposite sides of the heavy steel desk the overhead speakers came alive with an instrumental version of "Georgia on my mind", and after saying grace we eased in to the humble meal I prepared out of leftovers while the music continued.

"This is good". Elvira said as we ate, "What is it?"

"Well, its homemade Chili with red pepper, but I added some Canned Sausage for texture. That isn't gross is it?"

She said, "No, but while we're talking, I would like the recipe for this chili. That is, if you don't mind giving it to me".

"Well it so happens that I've got a spare copy in my desk if you want to try it". I said pulling out a drawer and taking out a dusty folder my uncle kept in case somebody wanted a copy. He was generous with that kind of thing.

"Here you go". I said, easing a slightly mellowed piece of notebook paper into her hand.

"Thank you". She said happily.

"You're welcome". I said, "But now, you realize that bit with the sausage isn't in the original mix don't you?"

"That's okay, I'll just add it". She said, "But on a different note, is this place really yours?"

"See for yourself". I said, ducking my head and hitching a thumb over my shoulder at a framed copy of the will and the deed.

"Huh". She said, slightly embarrassed, "Sorry if I hurt your feelings. It's just still such a surprise meeting someone my age that's already got their own business."

"Aw, I don't mind. It's the usual response. Of course, sometimes it's a pain to run at my age.  
Luckily I've got a deep enough voice that I can pass for an older man, otherwise my suppliers would cut service out of disbelief".

"How do you handle taxes?" she asked.

"Well, that's an interesting question. Every year I donate my services to the local churches and the board of education, and those deductions keep the overhead off, which deflects audits. Other than that, I just have my taxes done by my uncle's bookkeeper".

"How many cases do you get?" she asked, sounding a little nosy, but interested about the shop.

"Oh, counting the ones I get during my patrols, I'd say about I get about three good cases a week, give-or-take.  
But then, I also do a number of jobs off the clock to build credit. In fact, I've been told by some of my clients that if it weren't for me that half of this town'd grind to a halt".

"Sounds like a lot of work. How do you handle that and school too?"

I said, "Well my little dumpling, that's where that wagon of mine really shines. I just get to school early and use the dashboard for a worktop.  
Of course, I've also made it a habit of working a lot of crap out during lunch".

"Is there anything you haven't got covered?" she asked, with a subtle touch of amusement.

"Well, I still haven't managed to get a first-hand wheel balancer, and I'm still wondering what you see in me, but other than that…"

"You don't know what I see in you?" she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

I said, "Well think on it:  
Me, -I'm a troll. I'm short, pot-bellied, my teeth are crooked, my ears are as big as diesel rims, I've arms like baseball bats, and my shoes look like slag barges.

As for you, you're tall, smart, and not to mention beautiful, and to boot your voice feels like a warm blanket hanging on my ears. In fact, I'm starting to get curious as to if your singing voice is as good".

"You honestly think all that about me?" she asked shyly.

"I'd put my hand on a bible". I said.

"So wait," Ellie said, "You don't mind the fact that I'm nearly 230 pounds and I've got braces? And not to mention, I've got these big coke bottles over my eyes".

"These ain't contact lenses chickee". I said, pointing to the duct-taped monsters perched on my nose, "And while we're at it, I wish you'd quit bashing yourself for being healthy.

In fact, I wish a lot of you girls would realize that there are a lot of us boys that don't want a girl that shows her ribs like a neglected horse. That kind of thing spooks us".

"Well then why do they have skinny women in men's magazines?" she asked.

"That's for the jokers that are too stupid to think sensibly."

"Were you ever on of them?" Elvira asked.

"Oh, I flirted with the idea, but unless they're naturally slim I just don't get it. Why have a bone that harks her guts up to stay skinny when I got a stea-".

At that point the air went quiet, and Ellie gave me a look like I'd just flipped her the bird.

I dropped my head in both shock and chagrin, my eyelids crushing together as I halfway expected her to either slap me out of my chair or to run out screaming.

Strangely, for a few seconds more, the air stayed silent. I could almost hear her unsettled breathing from across the table.

"Cunningham you dog". I thought to myself, "You were going fine, and then you up and made yourself look like a jackass. The heck's the matter with you?"

These thoughts were abruptly interrupted as I heard the chair squeaking back on the concrete floor. Then in half a second I heard her footsteps.

"I'm sorry Elvira". I said, my eyes still welded shut, "I didn't mean to offend you. I just tried to think of something that would prove that I loved you the way you a…"

I didn't get to finish that statement, because all of a sudden I heard her steps stopping, turning around and approaching me, and then I felt a hand on the scruff of my collar lifting me up.

"Please don't hurt me". I said, afraid that my mouth had finally overloaded my tailpipe.

Then in one swift motion, it happened.

Ellie hauled me backwards until I was sitting upright, and before I could think she eased into my lap, wrapped an arm around my slouching shoulders, pulled me close, and then she put her other hand on my face, her emerald greens gazing quietly into my widening grays as she gently stroked my cheek, making steam sizzle from every pore in my forehead.

"You… Love me?" she asked meekly, while at the same time firmly squeezing my lips together with the hand she'd been using to stroke my cheek a second before.

"Durdn't dat kiff ah gurv you laft not turr you dat? YEF I WUV U". I said, sounding like my jaws were caught in a vise.

It was then that she relaxed her grip and I went into a few seconds of mugging in an attempt to regain mobility in the lower part of my face.

When I looked back up I saw her eyes glinting, and her lips quivered like mine had the other night.

"I love you too." She said, with a tear of joy welling up, and then in the blink of an eye she once again pulled me forward and softly locked her lips on me.

It's nice having a someone who can read past your stupidity.

As her lips locked on mine I swear I heard an army of fiddles strike up, and something about that made me fling my arms around Ellie, pulling her up tight like I hadn't seen her in years.

Her hair felt as soft as tall grass…

Her perfume seemed to curl around my nose, getting me tipsy again… you get the idea.

I felt my shoulders rattle, and then they relaxed. When they did I could feel a gentle breeze pass between us from out in the work bay, and I felt her pull me closer.

It was then that I knew I had to reflect the effects on me, lest I look like a dip. So I just began to do the best that I could to ratchet up the power in my kiss. After all, kissing was my only safe option at the moment.

I felt her tremble in my arms, and a gentle sigh escaped from the side of her mouth.

All of a sudden, I heard a car door slam outside, and I knew the jig was up. I tried to pull away, but Ellie wouldn't let loose.

"Ewie, yur purents". I mumbled shakily with her warm lips still clamped on me.

"Let 'em look". She said, and without another word I just went back to happily kissing her, although I started to sweat when I heard the sound of Cuban heels clunking businesslike through the main door way and across the cement.

And it wasn't any surprise when I heard that same squelching voice that had bugged me for nigh unto three years howling into its normal pitch.

"So THAT'S where you were!" Mrs. Guilder squawked from a few feet from the office door, "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING WITH HER?!"

Elvira let off an annoyed sigh when she heard this, and she slowly broke the kiss, leaving me with my lipstick smudged jaws hanging and one fearful eye trained on the encroaching witch as Ellie eased onto her feet, gently stroking my chin one last time as she turned and sauntered out the office door, her hair lightly fluttering in the wind that blew through the open doors.

As I heard Mrs. Guilder blaze into her normal song-and-dance, I saw Elvira lap part of her hair over an ear, and then she looked back over her shoulder at me, flashing a warm, honest smile, and playful wink.

And all I could do was wave meekly, and then watch until they got into Mrs. Guilder's Suzuki X-90.

As the sound of those miniscule tires struggling in the ruts faded, I felt compelled to ease over to the yawning mouth of the shop.

When I got there, I simply propped myself against one of the heavy oak doorframes, gazing wistfully along the disfigured main driveway that filtered into the street, and feeling the soft wind belting around me at what I pegged to be about 25 MPH. And as I settled up against the frame, I shut my eyes for a couple of seconds…

After what seemed like only a few seconds of rest, when my mind began to function again, I suddenly remembered how angry Mona looked when she'd caught us.

I knew what that woman was capable of, and all of a sudden when I opened my eyes that quiet driveway then seemed as miserable as a hallway leading to an electric chair, and the wind began to feel like some kind of cold steam cloud billowing around me, making me shiver hard.

I instinctively began to close the giant doors, fighting them all the way in the now raging gale.

But just as I was straining to get the last door shut, it happened;

The sky began to darken like India ink, and the air temp dropped rapidly. I strained harder to get the door closed, but it felt like I was trying to hold up a thin wall in a hurricane.

Luckily for me I just managed to get the door into such a position that the wind would shut it for me, and when it did that thing hit its frame with a blow so loud and sharp it bounced slightly, then it was pinned back in line with its twin.

I quickly made the decision to cut a wide, curving path out of range of the doors to avoid getting plowed if the wind changed its course.

When I did, I just happened to look back down the driveway, and that's when I saw him:

He was standing in the middle of the coarse, furrowed stretch, with a jet black outfit flapping in the tempest.

From what I could make out at my distance, he had black hair that seemed to be combed like mine, with a face like death beneath.

And though the wind howled round about me, I heaved into its path, wondering who it was, and how he could stand so coolly in what now felt like fifty mile gusts, which had changed their coarse as feared, and were hammering me like I'd stepped into the path of a frozen greyhound bus.

Then without warning, I looked up at him, and he raised a scrawny finger at me, and before could turn to look behind me, he vanished. He just flipping disappeared.

In a flash I turned and ran, pounding along the rutted path with my old Brahmas grabbing two feet of air with every step and one hand anchoring my cap. It might have looked funny if I hadn't have been so scared.

Nevertheless I strained to keep my balance in the cross winds, nearly blinded by what felt like stabbing rain drops peppering my face.

Finally I made it to the plate glass side door and heaved it open, leaping into the building like a live frog off of a hot plate.

Once inside, I dropped back against a wall, my heart throbbing almost as hard as when I was around Ellie on the first date and my chest feeling tighter than a shark-spec fishing line with a bite.  
Not only that, but my lungs felt like they'd been packaged in plate steel, and sweat poured off of me like Niagara Falls.  
I tried to move forward, but it felt like I was slogging through a wading pool filled with molasses.

I had barely made it to a spot beside one of the grease pits when abruptly I heard the strains of Buddy Holly being played from off in the dismal darkness that had filled the shop.

I looked towards the source, and that's when I heard an engine rap up. Then in an instantaneous moment I was blinded by a pair of bluish-white lights, and I heard tires screaming in pain as the lights raced right at me.

Then all at once, everything went black.

My eyes snapped open, and wouldn't you know it, I was still propped against that door. And aside from my arm having gone to sleep, I was intact.

"Mother of Pearl". I thought to myself. 

By then the sky outside was just starting to dim, and the breeze had stopped. From my point of view I could only see one star hanging above the trees.

The air was a little colder, and inside the shop the only light I saw was the meager yellow bulb that lit the jukebox.

Wary from my dream I stepped back into the shop, snapping a light on as quick as a striking King snake. But to my grateful surprise, the only vehicles I could see were my rig and the pint-sized Geo.  
"Man-oh-Man". I said, "That's the last time I let myself nap on a full tank. Oh well, back to work".

I then pulled the front doors shut, and then out of a strange bout of caution, I threw both of the solid steel cross bars my uncle had mounted at both ends of the shop to keep thieves out. At least I think that's what they were for.

After I'd slid the last bar home, I hung a closed sign on the push bar of the side door, and then I settled into the inevitable task of working on that piece of gunk I'd hauled in.

And just as I'd figured, the minute I hung the drop light and commenced the operation, my hands quickly became a mass of bumps, scratches, and bruises, while a solid blue tapestry knitted itself together and slowly oozed off my tongue.

The only time I didn't shout at every part of that Power-Wheels reject was when I sat down for a coffee break.

And it was during one of these that I remembered what Ellie had said earlier that day.

She had said, "I Love You!"

Of course I'd said it as well, but now that she'd said it let me know that I wasn't just pissing in the wind.

Nope, I'd now realized that what we had was real.  
And oddly enough, it not only bought joy to me, but it also negated my anger towards my patient, which at the time I was still a ways beneath.

So with one last slug of mud, I bounced right back to my duties, and I was happy…until I popped another knuckle.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sunday came and went like it always had. The preacher had given us another good sermon, (and as always, it was direct from God, and not from some crappy script), and afterwards me and the Imperial had rambled over to Chugalug Pond for some peaceful fishing.

And though the bites were as measly as they'd always been I didn't really care, because as usual my rod was screwed into the aluminum holder I'd mounted on the front right fender, and I had stretched out on the hood and fallen into another relaxing nap.

***

But now Monday'd reared its ugly noggin, and with a vivid memory of what had happened Saturday afternoon, I wasn't really flipping cartwheels about going to school.

In fact, the only thing that crowbarred me out of bed was the idea that I now had an earth-bound angel to sooth the strain of my weary load.

But like all the Mondays before, the clouds in my brain didn't stay parted long, and I soon began to worry about what kind of crap I'd gotten her into, and what's more, what kind of garbage her stepsisters would be spewing after that crap had passed.

Needless to ask, I was as nervous as a sinner on Judgment Day by the time I wheeled in and put on the parking brake.

And although this might seem crazy, I actually crawled out of my car and peeped around the door before I started for the school house.

Once inside I tried to sneak around, but unfortunately my boots weren't designed as Stealth Loafers, and like a monster from a toxic swamp, Mr. Guilder immediately popped up in the semi-empty hall.

"Hey Cunningham, wait up". He called, his PF Flyers slowly clapping towards me.

Just hearing his approach turned me into a tarmac statue, with every nerve jangling.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he drew near.

"Uh, I guess so sir". I said shakily. You'd quake too if you thought YOUR head was on the block.

"Hey, take it easy". He said, "Ellie told me what you two did. And so long as you kept things above the shoulders, you're alright".

"Thank you, sir". I said, wheezing a sigh of relief, "But now, what did that wife of yours have to say about it?"

"Well, Cunningham," he said, throwing an arm around me and pulling me up tight enough make my shoulders crack, "You owe me big. I got her to lay off of you two, but it came at a price".

Just hearing the word, "Price" sent a deep chill down my spine, because I knew of only one thing that had ever shut the flapping doors on the mouth of that walking furnace.

It was something that was so heinous that I'd have nightmares for a month after every time back when Uncle Freddie was alive. The worst part was that it was only a temporary fix.

Just thinking of it made my eyes clench hard enough to crack walnuts, and my teeth began to chatter like a caffeine-hyped Guiney Pig chawing on a piece of poorly cooked lettuce.

"Yo-Yo-Yo-You D-D-D-Di-Di-Didn't!" I squirmed. However, one look into his eyes told me he had.

"To recap, you owe me". He said with the flattest voice ever used.

"What?" I asked.

He said, "Well Cunningham, I'm a fair, laid back man. So I'll just take my bill out in services from your garage".  
"N-N-Name it". I said.

"I want free roadside assistance for a year, and that includes towing and some minor repairs. You also owe me a free oil change, and I want a complete detailing this coming Friday".

I started to buck against this, but with the sounds and the darkly imagined images of the deed already strangling my mind, I agreed willingly.

Before I could say anymore, the bell chimed in its high, brassy tone, and we parted ways.

As I walked towards my locker, I looked back in time to see him limping pitifully back to his room with one hand scrubbing against the locker doors to steady himself. Truth be told, he looked like Uncle Freddie whenever the aftershock from the deed hit him.

It was then that I knew that I had another true friend in this man. And deep down, I knew I owed him more than a year's worth of service.

****

From there, the day went about like it always did. All during English class Mona shot me cold, harsh looks but surprisingly said nothing.

As one might suspect, during lunch Ellie and I sat together, with her pressed up gently against me and me divvying up the food I'd lugged in because she'd forgotten her lunch money.

She didn't quite like the coffee, but I guess my little mixture isn't for everybody.

After school let out I walked her to her Mustang and we shared a long, warm hug and a kiss before setting off for home, which had become one of the touchstones of my days.

Because whenever I was in her arms, and she was in mine, my ragged old body felt like it could rip up a full-grown sequoia tree and use it as a caber (look it up), -and my weary mind felt a peace that normally came from either Church, fishing, or whenever I got to work on a car that wasn't small enough to be overturned by a fart.

***  
Speaking of farts, when I got home I managed to finish work on the Geo, although it took till nearly eight that night.

After I'd finished I called and left a message for the owners. And after that, I settled in at my desk, intent to watch the portable TV I'd installed a few weeks before.

There weren't many shows on granted, but if I tuned the flimsy antennae just right I could pick up the Big Three, as well as PBS.

That was the best out of them all, because back then PBS used to run a show called, "Psycho Dad" which had become a favorite of mine two years ago. And miraculously I had finished in time to watch it.

Sadly, this was the turning point of my day, because just as eight twenty five arrived and I geared up to watch, I was greeted instead by Bill Clinton's ugly mug giving a special address.

"Well," I said to myself as I switched off the set, "Time to close up".

With that I slowly heaved to my feet with my legs and back popping like contraband fireworks.

It was just as I had left the office and was stumbling over to the customer entrance with keys in hand, that from over my shoulder I heard the sound of music coming from the office.

I wheeled around like a gunslinger, and what I saw froze me solid.

For standing in the pale yellow light of the now lively Seeburg, I saw a dark, gaunt figure about my height and build.  
And as if the sight couldn't look any more terrifying, I saw a small, jagged shaft of light from the jukebox coming through a large gash in its middle.

"Who are you?!" I demanded, clenching my car key betwixt my fingers like a makeshift razor.

Eerily, the figure remained quiet.

"Don't make me have to hurt you!" I shouted.

I'll never forget what happened next, for at that moment, the figure slowly stepped out of the office, his tennis-shoe clad feet making a deep, thunderous sound that echoed from every corner of the empty building.

As he neared, the sight of him made my blood ran cold enough to refrigerate a brigade of forty pound turkeys and a large pumpkin pie at the same time. And as he drew closer I could tell right off who he was.

He was the same man I'd saw in my nightmare Saturday…

-My late brother, Arnold "Arnie" Cunningham, dead for eighteen years.

***

His skin, or what remained, was ashen gray and full of maggot-holes…

His hair, once full and black, now hung precariously from little gray islands atop his skull.

His eyes were neon yellow, and I could see coal-black teeth though the various holes in his paper-thin lips…

His leather jacket reeked of formaldehyde, and it hung limply on the rail-thin frame beneath…

Lastly, I saw what was left of an old black shirt under his jacket. In the middle of it I saw the gash more clearly. And to my horror, it seemed to still be bleeding.  
And as I stood there rooted to the concrete, I saw those shambling lips part into a sickening smile as those yellow eyes met mine.

All at once I heard him say, "Hello little brother".

"Eingh". I squeaked, unable to form a syllable.

"What's the matter?" the specter asked, "Afraid of your own kin?"

"Eek". I squeaked again.

"Say, it looks like you've met my old friend Dennis". He said with a smirk, "Well, the next time you see him, tell him I said hi".

"Hurgh…" I croaked, with my body still as solid as a stone carving.

"Well, I've got to go. But before I do, here,-you might need this".

His bony left hand fished around his back pocket, and then he took one of my frozen mitts and placed in it a remarkably fresh sliver of newspaper.

Then before I could eke out another sound, he withered away into the dim lights of the shop.

The second he did, I felt a hand lightly touch me on the back.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

To this day, I believe if I'd have jumped any higher, I'd have hit the fluorescent safety light above me.

When I landed I whipped around with a yelp, only to discover Elvira standing behind me. I'm still wondering as to how she was able to sneak in through a door that squawked like a parrot every time it swung.

However, I was so relieved at the time to see her that I got her in a bear hug .

"Dodge?" she asked with a bit of a gasp.

"I'm so glad you're here" was my muffled reply.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"Yes". I said, shaking like a tool shed on a fault line, "I need to see your old man. Is he home?"

"Yeah", She said, "Now could you loosen up honey? You're crushing me".

I relaxed my grip, and after she regained the breath I'd accidentally knocked out, she lead me out to her mustang.

**

"W-W-What'd you need at the shop?" I stammered, the chill falling off and my nerves smoldering.

"Oh, nothing". She said, "I just wanted to visit you. When I didn't find you at your house, I just drove around to your shop".

"I-I-I-It's a g-g-g-good th-th-thing y-y-y-you d-d-d-d-did." I said, my teeth chattering harder than they had that morning.

"What's wrong?" she asked, "You're starting to scare me!"

"I-I-I-I c-can't t-t-t-tell you". I said, "I j-j-just n-n-need to t-t-talk to y-your d-d-daddy, that's all".

By that time we were easing into the Guilders' yard. I didn't even wait for Ellie to stop before I unbuckled and sprung from the moving coupe. Then I rocketed for the front door, and once there I hammered on it as though my life depended on it.

To my fortune, Mr. Guilder answered.

"Hey Dodge." He said, "Are you alright? You look paler than Death".

"Fu-F-Funny you say that. I ju-ju-just s-s-saw so-so-something t-t-terrible". I chattered, my knees about to buckle.

"Steady Dodge". Mr. Guilder said, "What was it?"

"I-I-I c-can't tell you here. Can w-we t-t-talk in your garage?"

"Okay". He said, stepping out onto the porch just as Ellie was coming up the steps.

"What's wrong Dad?" she asked.

"I don't know yet". He said, "But you'd better go get Dodge some coffee and bring it out to the garage. He looks like he's been out in a blizzard".

Elvira obediently walked into the house to fetch the coffee and Dennis and I stepped out to the two car garage at the edge of the house.

**

When we got to the side door he opened it up and flicked on the lights. We stepped in, and I collapsed onto a shop bench with sweat pouring off in fifty-gallon buckets.

"Get a hold of yourself Cunningham, you're making me nervous". He said.

"Y-Y-Y-You should be". I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his face going stern.

About that time Ellie stepped in with the coffee and when she handed it to me I began to suck on my cup like a shop-vac.

The caffeine barely managed to calm my nerves, and I still shook pretty hard after I polished off the cup.

"Can you speak?" Dennis asked.

"Y-Y-Yes". I sputtered, quaking hard enough to rattle my part of the bench.

"Well tell me what you saw". He said.  
Lucky for me, Ellie had gone back in the house by then, because at the moment I didn't want to scare her with what I'd witnessed.

"Y-Y-Y-You w-w-won't b-believe me". I said.

"Try me". He said with a demanding tone.

"I-I-I-It w-was a m-man a-at the g-g-garage. He-he h-had a c-cut in his st-st-sstomach".

"Is that all?" Mr. Guilder asked with a twinge of annoyance.

"N-N-N-NO!" I exclaimed, "The c-cut… It-it had l-light c-c-coming through it".

"Coming through it?" Mr. Guilder asked. It was then that I saw a spark of uneasiness enter his face. Regardless, I continued.

"Y-Y-Y-Yes Sir. B-B-But tha-tha-that w-wasn't all. He looked like sssomething from a zo-zo-zombie movie".

"What did he look like?!" Mr. Guilder asked, with his voice now urging expedience.

"He l-l-looked li-like the f-f-fonze if he'd been d-d-dead for fo-fo-forty years. He had sh-shredded l-lips, and a j-j-jacket that smu-smu-smelled like a t-t-taaaxidermy shop. He said t-t-to give y-y-you this". I said, handing him the scrap of paper that was still frozen in my hand.

"He a-a-also s-s-said to t-tell you that he s-s-said hi".

"Who?!" Dennis asked.

"M-my-my b-big brother Ar-Ar-Arnie". I said.

Mr. Guilder's face dissolved into abject fright. I saw his hands start to shake as hard as mine were as he clutched the piece of paper. After a second he just barely recovered himself.

He looked at me with his eyes sparking and said, "Tell me this is a joke!"

"N-N-N-No s-s-s-sir". I said.

At this I saw his head drop, and in a hard, low voice said, "This shouldn't be happening, not now".

"W-W-what is it?" I stuttered, my nerves working back into a pure frenzy.

"We're in trouble, you and I". He said, his aging eyes boring holes in mine.

"Huh?" I squeaked. After all, I may have seen the ghost, but I didn't think I was going to be involved otherwise.

"I thought you may have been related to him". Mr. Guilder said, "Lord, why'd this have to happen?!"

"What?!" I howled, my eyes bulging in their sockets.

"Your brother…he's back!" Mr. Guilder screeched.

"And?!" I asked, my right hand white-knuckling the worktop.

"And if he's back, than that means that SHE'S…!" Mr. Guilder boomed, his face now as pale as mine.

"WHO?!" I hollered, now foaming at the bit.

It was then that Mr. Guilder took my hand and thrust the paper back into my hand.

"Read it!" he demanded, sweat pouring off his forehead.

***

The scrap turned out to be a piece from the Taos Guardian newspaper. It was a report on a brutal hit and run on a road just east of the town. As I read further I came to the part where a lone witness, a homeless man who happened to have been relieving himself behind a tree, described the vehicle as being a red and white car of Fifties styling, although he wasn't sure of the exact year model. Towards the end it said that the vehicle was seen heading east.

It was then that my sulky memory dredged up what I thought was only a thing I'd dreamed of on Saturday evening.

"Holy!" I yelped, "I thought it was only a nightmare!"

"WHAT?!" Mr. Guilder thundered.

I said, "I dreamt I s-saw this car…it tried to run me down".


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"WHAT?!" Mr. Guilder squelched. He then demanded to hear just exactly what I'd seen.

"Well," I said, "It all started just after your wife hauled Ellie away". I then started laying down the details.

When I finished, Mr. Guilder's jaw had dropped to the floor. In his left hand there was clutched a splintered chunk of the worktop that had been tore loose as I'd unloaded my story.

"I woke up before I saw the whole thing". I said, "But I DISTINCLTY remember hearing music just before it came at me".

"Music, huh". Mr. Guilder said, then rubbing his temples, "I guess that makes it official".

"Makes WHAT official?" I asked.

It was then that Mr. Guilder let loose of the chunk of splinters in his hand and eased off of his end of the bench.

"Come with me". He said, beckoning me to follow him through the door leading into the living room. As I did, I noticed that he was pulling to the left again.

We walked up the stairs to the second floor, and just as we were nearing the middle of the hall, Mr. Guilder stopped and reached for a pull rope leading down from the attic door.

The door came down and he and I stepped away just in time as it thundered down on its tracks and stopped with a "KA-CHUNK".

From there we crawled into the grim depths of the attic.

Well, I have to give 'er credit, the attic of Mona's house looked like every spook-house in the country. Confidentially, I halfway expected to find her first husband stashed up there, but I digress.

Mr. Guilder turned on the light up there and waved me over to a metal lock-box. He then produced a key, opened it up, and from its dim bowels he began to pull out various rolls of old newspaper, which were preserved in rubber bands and zip-lock bags.

"Read these". He said as he carefully took the articles out of their casing.

I began to read the first one, and at first things didn't click. All I could gather was that some old guy had committed suicide in his car.

Then I moved onto the second paper, and there was an article about a boy allegedly getting cut in half by what I assumed to just be a nut-case.

However when I read further, my hands started trembling, because below the picture of the deceased man they'd produced a picture of the car matching the description of witnesses.  
To my shock and chagrin, the vehicle turned out to be the same make and model as the one they'd spoken of in the scrap the phantom had given me.

Oh, but then the hammer dropped, because right next to the picture of the car was the grinning face of my older brother, which had been copied from his yearbook. I was surprised to see that the shaggy pile of bones I'd just seen minutes ago had once looked kind of normal.  
It was then that I also noticed that he was wearing my glasses. Needless to say, I hurriedly slung those things off of my head in fear that they might've had the ability to kill.

When I did, they landed with a clunk at Mr. Guilder's feet. To my horror, he slowly bent down and picked them up, clutching his left knee as though it were hurting him.

"I thought these looked familiar". He said,-

"The worst part is that they were in this same condition on the day…the day…"

It was then that I saw him flinch a little. For a few lowly seconds he was quiet, and then in a harsh voice scarcely louder than a whisper he said,

"…The day he found HER!"

"Who?" I asked

"The car in that article". He said.

"Do WHAT?" I gulped.

"The car. You know, the one you said tried to plow you under". He said with a dead-straight face, "Sit down on that box behind you and I'll explain".

***

"And now she's finally coming for me". Mr. Guilder said in a grim, musty voice.

As he said those last few words my nerves were as tight as harp strings, and to make the turd taller was the fact that because I'd survived where mom was lost, I was in the crosshairs as well.

I sat welded to my perch, seriously wishing that what had went on at the garage hadn't.

Because if it hadn't, I may have been able to pass of the idea off as Mr. Guilder having slipped a gear. I'd have been fine with that.

But the facts stood where they were, and as I sat riveted to that box I could almost feel my hair turning gray.

In fact, I had shook so hard listening to him that I'd came within a foot of scooting the box into the hole created by the still gaping attic door.

The only thing that snapped me into consciousness was the sound of another one of the terrible trio by the name of Lynnette screaming for someone to shut the hatch.

I haven't mentioned Lynnette yet, have I? Let me see if I can describe her:

Imagine Holly if she'd have had flat, chestnut-colored hair, an even tinier figure, and an even worse voice.  
She was a year younger than her sister, but and as far as personality she was a hardhearted shrew like the rest of her coven.

Strangely enough, however, when I heard that castrating squeal of hers, it almost calmed me. Almost. The reason for that is because it reminded me of the unadulterated terror I'd escaped only months ago.

To my mind that alone seemed like a contender against the Detroit demon Mr. Guilder had just finished telling of.

But when I factored in the two tons of steel and the regenerative capability, the car, which Mr. Guilder referred to as Christine, came out ahead by a chromed beak.

**

"Well is there anything we can do?" I asked in a low voice as not to garner attention.

"Not to my knowledge". He said, "I blame myself for that. I should have been stockpiling literature on the subject with as much time as I've had, but when I met Diane in February I dropped my guard.

And when that little baby doll downstairs was born, I just about turned a blind eye. Now I have to suffer".

"What about me?" I asked feebly.

It was then that Mr. Guilder turned his eyes away.

"If you hadn't have said anything about seeing your brother's spirit, I might have said you were safe". He said gloomily, "But now I'm not so sure".

"That's just great!" I growled, heaving from my seat and trudging to a dust-laden window, "I finally start feeling good about my life and here comes this metallic beast that I barely heard of to ruin it".

"Do you think I'm any happier?" Mr. Guilder roared, "After all, I'm the one she hates the most. The worst part is I don't even have a plan".

"There's got to be time to figure SOMETHING out". I sneered, "She's in New Mexico for Pete's sake!"

"What do you think'd work?" Mr. Guilder asked, "We can't just smack her to bits with a truck. We both know I've already tried that."

"And its a shame that Mr. Pomberton didn't have a bulldozer to spare". I interjected, "Then again, you couldn't have gotten it to Darnell's without trouble anyways. Still, there has to be something we can cook up".

Just as those words left my tongue, an idea flew into my skull.

"I've got it!" I said.

"What?" Mr. Guilder asked with a touch of bewilderment.

"Well," I said, "How about you folks just moving into my place?"

"And then?" Mr. Guilder asked.

"And then that's it." I said, "The place is built out of cinderblocks and oak beams. I'm pretty sure you'd be safe there till this blows over".

"That'd be okay if we were dealing with a haunted shopping cart". Mr. Guilder said, "But Christine's much stronger".

"Alright, hang on". I said, "You're talking about this thing like it's one of those big off-road dump trucks we're dealing with".

"Well now that you put it like that, I guess she isn't THAT burly". Mr. Guilder said, "But what she lacks in size she makes up for in persistence. You remember what I told you about that incident at Mr. Darnell's house".

"Yeah, I remember". I said, "And from what you've told me, I wish Arnie'd have found a different boss. But now, getting back to our situation, -what about building a decoy of your car and having her chase it?"

"And who do you think's going to drive it?" Mr. Guilder asked.

"Well I guess I could". I said, "I'll take the throttle while y'all sneak out in my machine. Worse comes to worse, y'all can bury me in my shop".

"Are you nuts?! I wouldn't dare let you take such a risk for my dumb hide". Mr. Guilder said.

By the sound of his voice I knew there was no chance of convincing him. (Confidentially, I also knew that I wouldn't have been brave enough to try that anyway. Desperation makes you say stupid crap.)

I said, "In any case we'll both have to be vigilant during our nighttime driving hours. That's going to be a pain come October what with winter coming on, but it's either that or end up in a grave.  
Of course, where our REAL trouble will lay is in convincing Elvira and the Terrorizing Trio to watch their driving as well".

"I don't think Ellie will give much trouble, but I'm not sure of my wife and stepdaughters". Mr. Guilder said.

"I'm not sure either". I said, "Speaking of them, I was going to warn you about your wife, but that I guess that isn't much of a worry now.  
Dang that brother of mine, I wish he'd have stayed dead".


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Well," Mr. Guilder said, "let's get back downstairs before the girls get worried about us."

"Good idea". I chimed as we heaved up from our seats and stumbled over to the attic ladder.

***

"What were you two goons talking about up there?" Mona asked as we came down the stairwell.

"Oh, just we were just covering some business". Mr. Guilder said, "What's for dinner?"

"Grilled cheese". She said, "Why?"

"Just curious". He said.

"I guess I ought to be getting home". I interrupted, looking up at the clock. By then it was nearly 9:45.

"Can I drive him home?" Ellie asked, starting to get out of one of the chairs in the living room.

Mr. Guilder started to say something, but I raised a hand to stop him.

"That's alright Ellie". I said, "I've only got a mile to go. Heck, I can walk it easy. And besides, I wouldn't want you to waste gas for such a short trip".

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" She asked with concern.

"I'm sure. But just for luck, can I have a hug?" I asked, "That IS alright with you isn't it, Mr. Guilder?"

He said, "Hey, that's between you two. Go on ahead".

It was then that I eased over to Ellie and took her into a loving embrace. It shouldn't surprise you folks to know that as I basked in her sweet warmth again, I wished that I didn't have to leave it, especially with the thought of stalking that lonesome road with nothing between me and uncertain danger but a couple of sheets of denim and a broad strip of leather.

Unfortunately any wedding plans were at least a year or two ahead, and a second after Elvira had placed a gentle, liquidating kiss on my lips, I knew I had to go.

Mr. Guilder offered me a ride as well as I was heading towards the door, but once again I refused.

If things would have been in a different state of affairs I would never have refused either offer, but back then, something in me had begun to flinch at the thought of anyone being put in danger because of me.

(And yes, I can already hear you asking why I did that very thing earlier. But keep in mind, summer was still somewhat in session at the time and sundown wasn't until 8:30. I didn't figure on any danger then, apart from the ghost I'd just seen.)

"Oh me". I grumbled to myself as I stumbled down the Guilders' driveway.  
The air outside was still nice and warm, but for all I knew I could have been in Santa's backyard at the North Pole in the middle of a January blizzard.

Naked. Standing in an open-top water tower.

The only thing that gave solace to my quaking spine was the fact that I had the Lord watching over me and that Elvira's kiss still clung to my lips like duct tape. I know that sounds sappy, but I didn't give a rip then, and I wouldn't give one now.

Still, as I started down that road I had more than enough resolutions about making the trip. Luckily I knew of a thin deer trail through the woods that I could access from where I was. I figured that that was the best move because I'd be able to duck down in the brush if I saw headlights.

So with my feeble courage building I crossed the road and carefully maneuvered onto the trail.

The moon hung brightly in the late September night as I cracked and crunched through the underbrush of the little path. And though the shadows cast through the trees were at times enough to remind me of the trouser-paving spook I'd witnessed in the shop I kept moving.

Soon I came to the very edge of my junkyard. This was where I really tensed up, because although I had always tried to rescue most of the cars I'd found on the property, there were still just enough un-resuscitated corpses sitting around to turn the night's run into a game of Russian Roulette, with Christine as the bullet.

Luckily for me the only car that looked dangerous that night was a Midnight Blue '58 Buick whose front hubs were resting on cinderblocks.

"Don't you worry, I'll bring you in for restoration soon". I thought, as I looked upon its looming bulk as I crept past. Then all of a sudden, for no discernible reason, there came a loud hiss from within that expansive stretch of rolling iron.

A while down the line I would discover the shedded skins of a timber rattler, but at the time I jumped back faster than a ping pong ball on a bungee cord, afraid that I'd met with one of Christine's relatives. Within a quarter of a second I had leapt up onto the hood of a disintegrating Caterpillar D-10 that sat across from the hungry-looking machine.

Bad move there, because the moment my boots made contact with top of that dull yellow hood, I heard a low buzz.  
If I'd have not had the sense to get a move-on right then, the resulting herd of pissed-off hornets would have killed me in an unknown time faster than ¼ of a second.  
To this day I still figure I had an angel towing me as my heavy steel-toes blazed over the dirt and dust.

Once inside the safety of my humble shop, I felt my heart again. It hadn't ticked that fast in my dream. As I wheezed and shuttered one of my hands drifted down to a space just above my knee, smashing flat a stray hornet that would have probably stung something important if I'd have been negligent.

After I shook out the corpse I instinctively switched on the light, and to my surprise I was free of any other disturbing surprises.  
Gladly, I dropped down on my haunches and shambled over to the office for a shot of Neosporin spray to my then flaming leg. Thankfully that little white and yellow can was kept on top of an equally small card table near my desk.  
One shot of its cool mist eased my pain instantly.

"Thank you God". I said aloud, genuinely grateful. (Mind you, I'm always grateful.)

After I was able to slowly ease up from my painful crouch, I hobbled over to my chair.  
It's cool vinyl upholstery felt good to the back of my legs, (which had been uncovered the minute I zapped down my pants in an effort to get at the painful stings on my knee and on the back of my calf).

And as I sat down in the deserted shop in my sweaty shirt and a pair of equally soaked boxers I began to calm down. Within a few minutes my thumping blood-pump eased its onslaught, and my hair began to catch up with my scalp.

A few seconds more and I grabbed a fan from the same table I'd snatched the Neosporin from and I plugged it in. In half a minute the air started to coax down my fevered temperature.

I felt myself shiver just a bit, but other than that I was becoming more and more relaxed.

"Man, do I need bug spray in this joint". I thought looking out at the lot through a solid window I had in the wall just beside the will and deed.

The rest of the night went okay. The only difference was that I walked a little slower up over the trail to the house. Lucky for me the little garage beside the house blocked the view from the road, because my bare thighs were like two bars of white neon.  
And yes, I was still only wearing a shirt and boxers; sue me. Those stings hurt and besides, I picked up my trousers the next day.

At any rate once I staggered into bed, (Still wearing what I had on), I went to sleep quickly. For a few seconds everything was quiet and dark within my mind. But then came that dream.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

To relate the dream is simple;

At first I dreamt that I was just poking around the front of the shop, looking for a set of new hubcaps for the wagon. I couldn't find any, so I just began to tromp over to the shop.

But then, just as I got halfway to the doors, from somewhere in the distance I heard a sweet, familiar voice.

"Hello-o." it called, in one of those sultry, sing-song tones.

I turned to look, and there in a clearing, sitting on the hood of my wagon in a red t-shirt and blue knee-length cutoffs was none other than Elvira.

**

Her hair oozed down her head and shoulders as it had on our first date, and her eyes glistened like emeralds.

Her full, pink lips had bowed up in the same fashion they'd had when she'd stepped into English class for the first time.

A long ways down, ten cute little toes flicked around in black sandals.

**

As I took in this vision of pure beauty, I began to pick up feelings up and down the dial.

I'm not dirty enough to pinpoint what they were, but I'll say this-

I was feeling very drawn to her then, and I started to ease up to her. But then, just as I laid one tentative paw on her luxurious shoulder, it happened.

There was a sudden, blinding flash, and when my eyes snapped back into focus, both Elvira and my wagon were gone. Before I could form a thought I felt a chill race up my side. Slowly I felt something creeping up on me. It felt like someone was watching my every move.  
I began to feel like I had as I was leaving the shop earlier. I commenced to urge myself to wake up, to somewhat crummy results.

Oh, yeah, I DID wake up. But when I did, I wished I hadn't.

"Smokes". I hissed under my breath. After all, dreams as good as that are few and far between.

Not only that, but when I glanced over at my clock, I found that I was already knocking on six A.M.

"Well," I said to an empty room, "At least I'm alive. My eyes are probably bloodshot, but who cares".

With that I heaved myself up and on to my feet. I know it may have been early yet for a guy like me, but I figured that as long as I was up that I could at least have an entire half-hour to get dressed and enjoy a decent mug of coffee, instead of the punitive thimble that'd come stock with my thermos.

After getting through my routines, I stepped downstairs to my living room. As I made my way, I could hear the decades-old steps creaking softly, even though I only weighed 183. Of course, I couldn't hold it against them, as I was groaning myself.

As I sat at my kitchen table, I saw the sun come up over the misty grounds across the road from the house. Its light seemed like a second moon, peeking through the grayish-blue air surrounding it.

"If only I could bottle up a sight like that". I thought, my mind's voice sounding deep with a wisdom not usually associated with guys my age. I figure it was the coffee talking.

Soon after, the despised thirtieth minute arrived. If ever a man hated a point in time…

I gathered up my satchel, taking special care to load my lunchbox with a second thermos filled with hot beef stew, along with two Tupperware bowls and a pair of spoons.

From there I hissed and grumbled through the still bluish morning light, making sure of my path when I entered the garage.

The Chrysler started with a deep, rumbling growl. Through the open driver's window I could almost feel the sound reverberating off of the bowing wooden walls.  
After nearly a minute, I popped it into Drive and eased out into the now brightening morning.

The road hummed in lulling tones as we rattled along, the occasional backfire punctuating every third mile.

The early morning air washed through the cab through the open windows, mixing with the vibrations of the engine, which gently coaxed me into a relaxed, though alert state.

Even as the dim form of the schoolhouse loomed into view, everything still felt right. All of my fears felt distant, and there wasn't a single ounce of malice in my thoughts.  
In fact, I was feeling so mellow that reflections of my dream had entered my head in High Definition.

It was Seven A.M. on the dot when I eased off of the road into the student parking lot, the Chrysler's low-beams lighting up our shaded space in the far right corner.

I sat quietly in the comfortable darkness, enveloped in the calm blue lights of the instrument panel.  
The engine had been shut off, and through the serene quiet of the empty lot I could hear it ticking as it cooled.

From a distance I saw a red bird alight on part of the chain link fence at the edge of the lot, hopping along the top bar.

Meanwhile, in the stillness of the darkened cab, I drifted in and out of consciousness. There were times that I really had to fight the urge to flop over onto the bench seats Uncle Fred had implanted from a '63 Continental some man had wanted to be buried in.

I think he'd done it as an extra gift for me; after all, the big Lincoln HAD been our Sunday car, and I had always liked those seats, along with the Cartier Clock on the padded dash, but I ramble.

It was 7:15 when the other cars began to file in, sometimes three at a time. Through the vast windshield I watched them ease into their spaces, waiting to see the tiny shape of Elvira's Mustang driving through the slight fog that had shifted into the lightening patch of tarmac. Sadly, before I saw anything I drifted off again.

.

After what seemed like a second, I felt a gentle hand lock onto my shoulder and begin to slowly jostle me. I looked over, and there was Elvira.

"HAARRGH… har….Good morning, Ellie". I yawned.

"Good morning Mr. Van Winkle!" She said playfully.

"So-harrr-, how are you this morning?" I asked, my voice still dripping with sleep.

"I'm alright. Of course, I'd be better if Mona hadn't have stuck that space case with me. The bony little tramp scuffed up her VW, and I'm stuck hauling her until it gets out of the shop".

As she said this she pointed over towards the front of the lot, and that's when I saw Holly propped against the fender of some guy's Pontiac, giggling as he tried to oil her up.

"I've been there myself". I growled in agreement, "Isn't she just the greatest thing to ride with? I mean, what with all of that Valley-talk she spews.

She and the rest of them headaches are from California, see. The worst thing is that none of 'em dared to naturalize, 'cept Mr. Sexton their dad. And Mona left him. ".

"Is that so? Hmm. Well anyway, I just wish that there was some way to get out of it". Elvira said, "Because if I have to hear the words, "She goes" or, "He was like" or any more of her put-downs one more time, I might accidentally belt her one".

"Ah, don't worry". I said, "I happen to know most of the mechanics in and around this county. Every one of them has the ability to set cars right in record time, including yours truly.

And look, if you feel you're starting to slip, just let her borrow your car for the time being and you can ride with me".

"Do you mean it?" she asked, with a sliver of anxiousness in her voice.

I said, "We'd have to get it cleared with your old man, but you know darn well that I'd be happy to have you on board. Speaking of your dad, -it's 7:45. We'd better get in and get our stuff".

I carefully stepped out of the car, and we walked into the building hand-in-hand, Ellie somewhat guiding me as I napped on the hoof.

***

Well, from there the day went like clockwork;

In English class we watched a dull, lifeless film about Shakespeare.

In Math and Science we were separated, but that didn't stop me from thinking about her towards the end of either.  
And lunch was alright because although Ellie had remembered to bring her money, she wound up simply buying milk and sharing my beef stew.

Then came History class in all of its last-class glory. Mr. Guilder handed out a test, and as usual I finished with ten minutes before the bell.

After school I met up with Ellie, and fortunately we happened to catch Mr. Guilder as he was nearing the front door opening out to the Teacher's lot.

"Hey dad". Ellie said.

"Hello Sweetey; Cunningham". He said, "What's on your mind?"

"Well, you know how mom yoked me up to Holly?" Elvira asked.

"Yes. Why?" Mr. Guilder asked.

"Well Dodge suggested I let her borrow my car for the time and just ride with him".

"Are you sure it's okay with him?" Mr. Guilder asked.

"Yes Sir". Ellie said.

It was then that Mr. Guilder said something that surprised me.

He looked me right in the eye, and said, "As long as he watches his step. If he doesn't, I'll flatten him".

Of course, his face slightly flickered when he said it, but I decided to obey out of plain decency and my respect for a friend, (-one that could kick my scrawny butt from Twangsville to Baltimore. Of course, I wasn't dumb or dirty enough to step out of line anyways.)

**

When we found Holly in the lot, she was leaned against the Mustang's nose, a Camel hanging out of her paper-thin lips, a compact mirror in one hand, and an eyeliner brush glopping it on with the other.

"HOLLY!" Elvira snapped, "Get that crap out of your mouth! What if dad had seen you?"

"Shmeesh". Holly whined, continuing work on her paintjob. "Like, what's the prob, Fatso? I swear, you're like, so totally bogus!"

I saw Elvira get mad for the first time. It wasn't pretty, and in a flash she looked like she was going to make good on her promise.

However, I beat her to it.

All I did was lower the mirror, and then without even flinching I licked my index finger and thumb, reached up, and snuffed the smoking ash. I then took the cigarette, plucked it out of her mouth, and then I flung it on the ground. And with a strange, gruff laugh, I ground it under my boot.

To answer your question, yes, it hurt like crap. But with Holly still in such a pliable state, I just stretched out my hand and silently demanded her to turn over the pack.

She handed it over like a wallet in a holdup, and I reared back and flung it so hard it cleared most of the lot.

Then with her eyes still bugged and her lips still quivering like a whipped pup, I pointed my burnt finger at her in a friendly warning, and then turned to face a now set-aback Ellie.

"Well Ellie," I said, just a little excited, "Now that that's settled, why don't we hand her those keys now?"

"Huh? Oh, okay". She said, fishing the key ring out of her pocket and handing it to Holly.

"Here," she said, her voice sounding unusually smug, "Use my car for a while. Be careful now, it's the only thing keeping you off of the bus. And if you smoke it up its your hospital bill".

"Sure". Holly said, with her eyes still glued on me.

"Let's go". Elvira said warmly, putting an arm over my shoulder. The look on her face could have almost mirrored an expecting mother as we turned to walk towards the wagon.

Of course, as soon as we got into the car and watched Holly back out and pull away, she slammed a low left jab into my right arm.

"Yeowch!" I said, "What was that for?"

"For doing something stupid." She said, "I could have handled it okay without you pulling that stunt".

"Hey, I couldn't help it!" I squeaked, "You looked like you were getting ready to pulverize her. I've never been too fond of her myself, but I'll be danged if I let you get in trouble for her stupidity".

"Well for your information, I…ah, forget it". Elvira said, "I'm can't be mad at you.  
-Actually, when the shock wore off, I was kind of proud to have you. How're your fingers, by the way?"

"Oh, it's just a couple of first-degree burns". I said, showing her the miniscule damage as we pulled out of the lot.  
"Heck, I've been hurt worse trying to light the coal stove in my shop".

"You had a stove in there?" Ellie asked.

"Well not in the summer," I said, "but I crack it out in mid-fall. That's when things really start cooling off around here".


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

True to my word, winter began to creep into Twangsville in the middle of October. But then, that was the least of my problems, because neither I nor Mr. Guilder had been able to put together a workable plan yet, and there had been no clues to give us a time window.

And if that wasn't enough, as time wore on and the weather began to grow colder, my fears had commenced to sharpen:

I could hardly sleep, and my nerves thrummed every time I entered the shop.

I began to hallucinate, seeing that wretched machine's headlights tearing at me, even in the bottom of my coffee mug.

My face began to sag and arch with undue age, and every morning closer to November I felt more and more like the mummy rising from his crypt as I slithered out of bed.

Strangely though, none of these occurrences slowed me down in terms of my education or my relationship with Elvira.

Until Halloween.

You see, we'd decided to go out that night. And though I knew full well of the possible dangers, I believed that it would have been worse to miss making one last run with her.

So with my wagon as the vehicle of choice that night, we went into town to have dinner.

The night was cold, yet peaceful as we rumbled over the roads. The moon shone brightly over every hill and valley while frogs croaked in the distance.

The headlights of my car cut through the remaining darkness like bowie knives, and the freshly tuned engine made almost a musical sound beneath the hood.

Inside the cab, Elvira was propped against me, beautiful even in street clothes.  
And though I was still on moderate alert, her presence seemed to work like an anesthetic, calming my mind while I worked the controls.

Soon we pulled up against the curb of the restaurant.  
I guess I should have been a little more wary with the number of cars that gummed up both sides of the street, but I just went ahead and helped Ellie out, and then I told her to go on inside and order the food while I went to park the car.

I watched her as she stepped inside, and then I put the war wagon into gear and we eased up along the dimly lit street.

It didn't used to be so dark, but thanks to our mayor Hubert H. being as tight as he was with funding, the number of streetlights in our town had plummeted to only eight, and five of them were just barely flickering.

And as if fate wasn't kicking my butt hard enough, the only space I could find was on one of the streets with one of these things. And it was a lonely little outpost, near the end of town. The only reason it was so empty was because there were no businesses or homes for the trick-or-treaters to extort.

Nope, there wasn't a building to be seen…except for an abandoned car lot. Ain't it funny how places like that only pop up when you're already a basket of nerves?

Unfortunately, I didn't even get to stay there, because just as I crept to a stop, just a few yards ahead in the light of the flickering lamp, there she was:

Her grille puckered in the middle in a squared-off arch, almost like the upper lip of a snarling dog.

Her chrome work glinted wickedly in the dull orange sparks cast by the lamp.

Even her blackened windshield seemed to beetle up like the shoulders of a crouching panther.

And though the light was bad, I knew it could be nothing else.

"Sonofa…" I whispered to myself with my blood running cold and my heart slowing.  
Luckily I hadn't shut off the engine yet.

Slowly I grabbed the column shifter and punched reverse…then I cautiously mashed the accelerator down with my big toe.

I felt the Chrysler start to ease backwards, the engine muttering in almost a hushed tone.

But then, she began to ease forward, her grille changing color as it entered my low-beams.

I could hear her engine…gunning and falling off…gunning and falling off.

From out of nowhere I heard that old familiar music through my open window.  
This time it was Chuck Berry, and I could almost feel the heavy baseline of the song from my seat.

Closer and closer she crept…her engine rumbling just a little louder each time she rapped it. Before I could wail for help, her lights flashed on and she charged, with that cast-iron V-8 howling and her rear left tire screaming.

Had my primal instincts not kicked in right then, she would have gotten me.

As soon as those dual-beams erupted into life my right foot sailed to the floor, causing my chariot to lurch back, swiftly winding up to forty with its souped-up mill groaning with the sudden demand for power.

Farther we rolled, my left hand set like stone on the steering wheel and my eyes becoming dinner plates. Fortunately we neared an intersection and I saw my chance to escape.

I wrenched the wheel to the left, rolling that boat into a hard right turn. Then just as I straightened out I let off the gas, slammed on the brakes and popped it into Drive, with my size twelve boot slamming down soon after.  
The engine barked with a will, and with the Posi-Trac rear end squawking those big black Firestones on the pavement that old wagon shot forward and then pitched to the left as I heaved the wheel into another right turn.

Surprisingly, as big as my car was, I was able to get it going again so fast that Christine just barely scratched the back bumper as I peeled out.

***

Soon the last light of town flicked out in the distance as we hauled out into the open, with my machine's engine howling just a little louder than Christine's.

In seconds we entered a stretch where scattered Georgia pines loomed high overhead on both sides of the road.

It was there that I temporarily let off the gas, shoving that stick into Overdrive like many a man before.

Faster and faster we flew, 70…80…90…100…  
The trees became a picket fence, and the wind slammed over my car with the sound of a Banshee.

I looked in the rearview, and I could hardly believe that the thing chasing me was still in my back pocket.

"What is this thing running on?!" I heard myself whisper.

Just the thought of what Mr. Guilder had said about this beast made my knuckles whiten.  
At first I was afraid, but then an idea flew into my head as we passed a sign advertising a corn field just ahead:

You see, back when I was younger, Uncle Freddie had an old pal by the name of Chief Buddy Ragsdale, an eight times decorated law officer of our local precinct.

And just after I'd received my license, I'd been put into his tutelage for a month-long after-school Defensive Driving course.

Of course, during my lessons, Mr. Ragsdale had relaxed a few rules, and he'd taught me a few methods that weren't in the main lesson book, but rather in his memory.

These little moves had been created back before he'd settled down and cleaned up his act after, (And I swear it's the truth), a short career in bootlegging.

And one of the crowning moves he'd taught me was one that used a corn field as a makeshift gilley suit for your car, and as soon as I saw that sign, that very lesson kicked in.

To answer your question, no, it didn't work, -because as I neared the field my throttle hung.

"What the?!" I moaned. Before I could do anything, it happened:

You see, running through the field was a wide creek, and over it stood a concrete bridge. Before I could unjam the throttle I was within feet of it.

I'm still unclear as to what happened, but just as I neared the bridge my front right tire blew, ripping my car off the road and propelling it over the bank on the left side of the bridge.

Then all at once the front end canted skyward then slammed to earth, and then there were three hard shocks as the front end dashed against a large rock on the far bank, stoving in the driver's door and causing the rear end to slew 'round, the rear right corner striking the bridge abutment.

With one more bone-rattling bang the car splashed down on all fours, the shock rupturing the rest of the glass in the windows.

This last bolt knocked me slightly unconscious. Luckily I'd been wearing my seatbelt.

When I woke up, the car was starting to spark and sputter. If the passenger doors hadn't have been slung open by the impact, I might not have been able to crawl out in time, dragging my battered body up onto a rocky sandbar under the bridge.

Just as I managed to position myself behind one of the larger rocks, I looked back to see my cherished heirloom erupt into a ball of flame, sending up a fat column of inky black smoke.

And as I watched it burn, I thanked God that I was alive. I also thanked him for Elvira's being absent at the time.  
More thanks came when from a few feet above I heard Christine's radio as she drew near, apparently inspecting her handiwork. Luckily I was far enough under the bridge that she didn't see me.

A few minutes later the sounds of her engine and radio faded out. I stayed put just long enough to be cautious, and then with a little difficulty I managed to crawl up the bank to a spot just beside one of the bridge railings.

Carefully I peeped along the road, staying low in the tall grass. There weren't any signs other than the skid marks caused by my car. Speaking of which, as I looked around I just happened to look at it again. By then the whole car was drenched in flame, save for the shallow stretch that sat below the water line.

Now, I'm not really an angry man, but as I looked at my machine burning away, I felt a sharp pang in my ticker, but then I think anyone would if they had a stick of brains.

Nevertheless, I knew that I had to get back to town somehow, so after one more sweep of the area, I climbed on up the bank and then looking like heck I started to totter across the road.

But before I could even make the double yellows, I heard a low rolling engine easing to a stop. I winced to my right, and the last things I saw were a pair of yellow low-beams, and above them I saw red and blue flashing above.

I began to stagger drunkenly towards the light. With the shock of the wreck wearing off my body began to wrench over with the pain.

Before I could get any closer, I collapsed to my knees.  
I just barely managed to prop myself against the remnant stretch of railing before the lights went out.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was morning when I came to, and the second I did, I felt a whole new level of pain;

My right ankle hummed like I'd stepped on a live wire.

I felt like someone had parked a mining truck on my chest.

On a side note, I also noted two things that were a little more familiar. I'd felt them years ago when I'd been hospitalized with Pneumonia. One of them I'd hated back then, and I hated it when I noticed it that morning.

Because first off, and the biggest thorn in my side, -sticking out from under a patch of that creepy medical tape they nail it down with was an IV line.  
Secondly, other than a blanket someone had pulled over me, I was in a paper gown and a jock strap.  
Of course at the time I picked up on this, my eyes felt like they'd been spot-welded shut.

It took four seconds just to crack one open. To my relief, though, I could see out of it.

At first my vision was blurred, but after about a second it cleared.  
When it did, I let my eye drift down to my body, and that's when I saw the full extent of the damage;

There was a breathing tube in my nose.

My chest was wrapped in gauze, but thankfully it wasn't a cast. My right ankle, though, -that was in a brace, and so was my left elbow.

I tried to open my right eye, only to find that it was covered with bandage, along with half my face.

(Also on a hushed note, -can you say CATHETER?)

That seemed to be last section of damage, so I relaxed.

I would have drifted back to sleep, but I began to pick up on a presence of someone in the room, someone looking at me.

I looked to my left, and that's when I noticed a middle aged man sitting in one of those little padded chairs they give visitors;

He was stocky, with sandy blonde hair that was combed neatly and eyes as blue as his pinstriped 3-piece suit.

I could see a small, well-polished nameplate on his left breast pocket that said R. Junkins, Jr.

He had a big clipboard in his right hand, and on his face I could see a concerned look on his face.

It took me a second or two to force a word through the sludge buildup in my throat, but I finally managed to bellow, "Hello, Sir. Who are you?"

Well, he put that clipboard to his side and with a grin he stuck out his hand and said, "The name's Detective Rudolph S. Junkins, Jr. Hazzard County Sherriff's Department. Do you know who you are?"

With a sputter and wheeze I said, "Cunningham, Rutherford Dodge Cunningham. Now for the important question, why are you here?"

"Do you mean to say that you don't remember your wreck?" he asked.

"I'm wishing I didn't. That wagon was one of the best things I'd inherited from my uncle". I said, my voice cracking like a light bridge under the weight of a tank.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Mr. Junkins asked, taking clipboard and pen in hand.

I said, "There isn't much to tell. Some nut tried to mess me up at the edge of town. I ran, and when we came to that bridge, my front right blew.  
From there, the story writes itself. Thank God my car was strong enough to preserve just enough of me that I could drag myself out before it went up".

"Did you see who was chasing you?" the detective asked, writing down my testimony.

"Not really,…the windshield was tinted. Of course, I can describe the car". I said, looking off towards my window.  
"What did it look like?" Mr. Junkins asked.

"'58 Plymouth Fury sport coupe, Red and white, Pennsylvania tag, letters CQB 241". I squawked, not missing a stroke.

It was then that Mr. Junkins' face ran whiter than a blizzard in a pillow factory. His hand began to shake, and I saw his eyes flicker nervously.  
He jittered for a second or two, but then I guess his nerves calmed enough, because he soon regained composure.

"What's the matter Sir?" I asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, it's just a little facial tic". He said. (Of course, when he said it, I could smell a little bullsmoke, but in my shabby state I didn't want to risk ticking him off by calling his bluff.)

Instead, I simply changed the subject.

"Do you know how long I'm stuck here?" I asked.

"Well, let's see". He said, "When Chief Ragsdale found you the other night, you looked pretty banged up. Looking at you now, though, you look like you've cleaned up nicely.  
But then, I'm not a doctor.  
No, I just needed to speak with you. Incidentally, I still have some questions, -if you feel up to it".

"Shoot". I said.

I don't really have to tell you what came next, because you've heard the same questions before. You know; Enemies, grudges, certain "Business deals", Etc.

The whole process took about five minutes, and during that time I skittered and danced around the smoking ember concerning the identity of the real culprit, (while also making sure that I didn't cut my own neck.)

By the time we finished and he was stepping out, the doctor was just stepping in.

To describe the good doc was easy;

He was tall, average-built, and looked a bit like someone I saw on TV. He was wearing standard medical garb, along with a pair of Brogans that clunked businesslike as he walked towards me.

He was the first to speak;

"Hello Mr. Cunningham". He said, "It looks like you're doing better. How are you feeling?"

"Not too good Doc". I grumbled, "I'm already tired of this IV line, I hate being hooked up to the catheter, and I'm wondering just how long I've been in this joint. How's that for hijinks?"

"Well, Mr. Cunningham," he said with a genteel smile, "You'll be getting out this afternoon. This is your second day here. We only kept you here because you'd lost some blood, and we needed to make sure you'd stabilize.  
We also had to remove a few splinters of glass out of your chest and face. And don't worry about your catheter; we'll take that out soon enough. Now, do you have anyone we can call so you'll have a ride home?"

It was then that I remembered that I had Elvira's car phone number.

"Check my wallet Doc. There's a number for my girlfriend's car phone inside". I said, "That is, if it didn't fall out of my pants when I crawled up that creek bank. Speaking of which, what am I going to do about clothes?"

The doctor said, "Well, your wallet's right here on the nightstand. And as far as clothes go, we'll give you some pajamas you can have. Now, would you like something? A drink, maybe?"

"Can I have an RC?" I asked, my brow going up cautiously.

"I think you're well enough." He said with a laugh, "In fact, if you'll stay still and relax for a minute or two, I'll take your catheter out and wheel you down to the cafeteria".

"Thanks Doc". I said, and then I let myself go slack so the doctor could do his work.

One thing about it, there's nothing quite like that funny little feeling you get when they let out the air in that little bag inside you. Of course, that's quickly replaced when they take out the thing it's attached to. That's something I can't really describe cleanly.

Nevertheless, when that thing came out I felt relieved. Because the only thing standing betwixt me and a nice cool drink was the IV pole. Luckily for me it was one of those models with castor wheels on its feet, making it so I could tow it beside my wheel chair as me and the Doctor rolled down the hall to the elevator.

It was 3:15 when I let the doctor put out the call to Elvira.

"Hello, is this Ms. Elvira Guilder?" the doctor asked, "It is? Okay. Look, I'm Doctor Michael Benson at J.D. Hogg Memorial hospital in Hazzard Township.  
I have a young man here by the name of Dodge Cunningham; he said you could be contacted to pick him up… Can you?... He was in a wreck Tuesday Night. …What? …. Yes, he can talk. … Okay then. Here he is". And then he handed me the phone.

"Hello, Ellie?" I said nervously.

"What's happening Dodge?! Are you alright?!" Ellie asked, practically taking my hearing out in one shot.

"Don't blow your stack baby, I'm okay. Just a little banged up". I said calmly, "I'll fill you in on the way home. Now, uh -are you on the road yet?"

"I just got in the car, -dang it, Holly, I'm on the phone! Shut up... No, I don't care if you need it...It's Dodge! He's in the hospital! "

"Ellie, can you hear me?!" I shouted, "Just calm down baby-doll. Put her on the line; I'll take care of her".

"What? Okay. Here! – UUGH-". She said. There was the muffled sound of the phone changing hands, and then Holly's voice came on the line.

"Yeah, what do you want?" she said in a smart-alecky tone, "Like, I've got to call my boyfriend Rick".

I paused, taking the receiver away from my ear, and then looking at it for a second in disgust. Then I came back on the line with a tone of my own, one I usually reserved for those demonic foreign go-carts that sometimes crept into my shop;

"Alright, you spoiled lolly-pop; I think I've heard enough of that Californian crap.

Now, do you remember what I did with your cigarette the other day? Well, if you don't want that thing dug up and rammed up your snippy little nose, you'll kindly let us to finish our talk. After that, we won't give a rat's furry, hemorrhoid-infested butt who or what you talk to. Do I make myself clear?"

All of a sudden, the line went dead. There was a sudden whoosh of air, and then a dull thud.

"Oh lord". I thought, "That talking chimney's wrecked the phone".

But then, before I took the receiver away from my ear, Elvira came on the line.

"Are you still on the line?" she asked.

"Yep". I said.

"What did you say to Holly?" she asked, "She looks like she did when you pulled the cigarette out of her mouth".

"Oh, she just gave me some lip. I told her if she didn't let us talk, I'd find that old cancer stick and jam it up her nose. And no, I didn't mean it".

"Oh, you don't have to apologize, I'd have said worse. But now, I hope you don't mind waiting, because I have to tell my dad and leave the nut with him". She said in a loving tone.

"That'll be alright". I said, "I can wait a while. But wait a minute; do you know where Hazzard Township is?"

"I should…we drove through there on our way down here. I might need directions to the hospital, though". She said.

I said, "Well the doctor's still here; I think he can help. Hang on".

I handed over the phone to the now surprised Dr. Benson, and then I turned on the TV and watched while he relayed the directions.

A half an hour later, Ellie wheeled her car into the outpatient pickup bay. Behind her was a familiar blue duster.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

It was a surprise when both Elvira and Mr. Guilder stepped into that hospital room and started easing me back down the hall to the elevator.

By then I'd been unhitched from the IV unit and was wearing the pajamas I'd been issued, along with those funny little treaded socks they give you to walk on the tile.  
Speaking of which, they'd washed what remained of my clothes and had placed them in a plastic shopping bag, which now hung from my right crutch, while my personal effects hung in a little Ziploc bag in Ellie's hand.

The sun shone dimly through a gray sky as a cool breeze washed over us in the pickup bay, its touch feeling good on my scuffed body.

I started towards the Mustang, but then I saw a distinct blonde head bobbing above the top of the Shotgun seat.

"Crap". I thought. "That must be why Mr. Guilder's here. Either that or he must think that I've built up enough strength to pull something funny with Elvira.  
Oh well, I guess it beats riding with 'Tinsel-Town' there".  
With that, I pulled towards the Charger, and after a little precautious maneuvering and a small fight with my crutches we were on our way.

For a couple of miles the cab was silent save for the creaking Hemi blatting away under the hood. The only acknowledgements Mr. Guilder gave me were a couple of nervous, sidelong looks. Only when we pulled up at a stop sign at the edge of town did I attempt to talk.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked feebly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you've been quiet for the last few miles, and it's my experience that when older folks are silent for a long time, it means that they're either dead, asleep, or pissed off". I said.

"You're not in any trouble, trust me". He said, "It's just that you look like I did after MY accident".

"You had an accident?" I asked in surprise.

He said, "It was back in 78, and we were playing against the Rock Ridge Bears for the championship.

Back then your brother was still working on Christine. He'd just gotten her legalized, and he'd brought her to the game, along with another girl we knew.

I just happened to see them on the running track as I was running a pass, and it distracted me long enough to allow three defensive linemen to slap me to the ground.  
I was in traction for three months.…

When I got out I was on crutches just like you. The worst thing is that to this day my left leg has a habit of occasionally wandering off and dragging me with it".

For a second or two I couldn't speak. In my mind a line began to forge, creating yet another link between Mr. Guilder, Christine, Arnie and I. Dang it.

"I reckon I'm lucky then". I said at last, "I'm coming away with a few scratches and sprains. And come tomorrow the doc said that I'd be on my feet again".

"Looks like". Mr. Guilder said, his voice dribbling with nerves. (Of course, that could be said for me also.)

It was obvious that we were both dragging our feet around the main point, which was that I'd survived yet another brush with Christine. -Another waltz with death.

It was almost 4:30 when we made it to my house. Once again Elvira and Mr. Guilder helped me to move; only now we were going from the Charger to my house.  
Carefully they helped me in and up the stairs, down the hall, and then into my room, where sat my bed, its ample elbow room and soft mattress welcoming me home.

Fortunately I was already in Pajamas.

As I sidled under the covers, Mr. Guilder stepped out of the room while Elvira sat beside my bed taking in the look of the place.  
After a few seconds she looked over at the door and then back at me, and then all at once she collapsed onto my belly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

It was at this point that I put a bandaged hand on her shoulder, feeling it shudder as she sobbed.

"What's wrong Ellie?" I said, trying to be brave for her.

"I…I feel like crap. That night… I thought you'd ditched me….-I didn't know…" she squealed.

"It's okay". I said, taking her under my arm. "But from here on, you've got to promise me that you'll never think that way again, okay? I love you, and I'm not dumb enough to walk away from someone who loves me".

Just as I said that, I saw her well up again, slowly easing her arms around my aching neck and pulling me tight.  
Then to my surprise, she began to sing!

The song was a soulful take on an old tune called, "You really got a hold on me", and she belted those notes with a voice was pure suede and had the force of a freight locomotive.

And as she wandered along with that angelic sound, it began to work on me:

My nerves began to unspool…

My temperature began to rise like warm air, the majority of it building in the damaged side of my face.

Out of nowhere came a tear in my eye, and as she hit those last sweet notes, I felt my battered frame give way, and I happily passed out in her arms.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

It was 9:15 when I woke up, with my good eye bleary and my body a chunk of copper slag. It took me three minutes to heave myself out of bed, eventually managing to stagger to the door, which at the time seemed a lot farther off than it was, (about five miles to be exact.)

As I entered the hallway I could see the light of the TV on in the living room below, and I heard a pair of familiar voices yakking.

It took me a second to place them, but when I did my eye snapped open and I felt a severe chill shooting up my spine that wouldn't leave as the squelching tones continued. And when the static of drowsiness lifted that chill ran into my blood system, freezing every one of my innards solid.

"Son of a biscuit-eating fireball, did it have to be them?" I thought darkly, "Why does this happen? I mean, an angel sings me to sleep, and now I wake up to hear the devil's parakeets".  
With this in mind I dieseled over the creaking floor, clamped my fists, and even started grinding my teeth as I descended the stairs.

***

They were both on the couch when I made it to the bottom step. As usual, Lynnette, ever the remote hog, had my faithful Channel-Master 500 in a death grip.

Even from the steps I could hear its strangled whimpering.

Worse than that, I saw one of her hands clutching my favorite coffee mug while the other poured an unmistakable bottle of Texas Driver bourbon into it.

Holly, meanwhile, was burning through a carton of Yokadoka Fats as cheerily as a tire fire, intent no doubt to get revenge by snuffing them in my upholstery. At the time I saw her she was fumbling around for her lighter and a fresh stick.

What happened next would cause some trouble down the road, but after nearly three years of holding my temper two of my biggest tormentors had finally pushed the wrong button, and my vision became as red as a stoplight.

S-L-O-W-L-Y I turned, inch by inch and foot by foot, my new treaded socks padding my step as I quietly advanced back up the stair to where my Great Grandmother Sylvia McBane had hung a wrought iron frying pan as a replacement to the oil-soaked Louisville Slugger she'd used on thieves during the depression.

The handle of that old skull-basher felt almost as comfortable as the stock of the Lever action Winchester rifle that hung above my bed. And as I turned again to stalk my prey, the heft of it felt more and more to my favor.

The Gruesome Twosome was unaware of my encroaching presence as I tiptoed forward in the shadows of the darkened room, the smell of Alcohol and Nicotine burning my nose.

Deftly I cranked back my good arm, clutching the pan in a savage hold. And when I felt like I could crank it back no farther, I loosed what power I had upon my chosen target…

The sound of the picture tube imploding returns intermittently to my ears to this day, along with the bellowing primal yell that thundered along on its coattails.

Every now and again I can also still hear the shrieking screams of the girls as they leapt from the couch and hurtled though the door, tearing it from its hinges as they went.

"Y'all aren't getting away that easy. There's no one alive that can outrun a Motorola". I said, flicking on the lights and reaching for my semi wireless phone.

"Hello?" said Mr. Guilder at last.

"Hello Mr. Guilder? It's Dodge". I said.

"Dodge? Is something wrong?!" Mr. Guilder said,seemingly gearing up for the worst.

"You bet your graying hair there's something wrong!" I said, "I just caught your stepdaughters with a bottle of hooch and a pack of smokes!"

"Oh. Well, where are they now?" he asked, his voice a mix of relief and shock.

"They should be heading your way. I spooked the heck out of them". I said, looking over the damage they'd left. Thankfully there was nothing smoldering.

No, truth-be-told, the only things they'd left in their wake were a half empty bottle of Texas that'd spilled over in the rush, an ashtray full of crumpled cigarettes, and the foul, putrid smell of nicotine and liquid fart. And though the TV had been my doing, I still chalked it up as being their fault. They had provoked me, after all.

Not wanting to disturb any part of the crime scene in the living room, I stepped into the kitchen and poured some coffee in another cup and sat down at the kitchen table, all the while taking care not to spill anything on my bandages.

As I sat there comfortably guzzling power water my eyes drifted into the laundry room, specifically to where Walter used to sleep;

I could almost hear his contented snore, and my sights seemed to pick up on his massive frame panting away in the basket he'd slept in as a pup, (he'd out grown it, but we never could get it away from him).

And what a big dog he was, too. His bloodline was a solid mix of Great Dane, Saint Bernard, and a noticeable touch of English Mastiff.  
His padding gate could be heard even on the softest dirt, and his thunderous bark could be heard clearly for seven miles.

And though his countenance would make most folks fearful, both Uncle Freddie and I knew that inside he was no more than a happy, lazy, and very hungry puppy.

Of course, he would defend the nest at times, and there was no better example than when Mona and her two pit bull daughters first moved in. I was sixteen, and I didn't like the arrangement either, but it was all I could do to keep him from pouncing on them and chewing them up.  
Thankfully the only thing he did accomplish was pitching into a barking fit that made me stone deaf for two days, and one blast took out the living room window.

I'd have thought that performance alone would send the mooching alligators screaming into the street, but by a wretched twist of fate they stayed put.

A few nights later SHE cooked that vile cap block she called a meatloaf. I didn't know that she'd fed him some of the mix until later in the night, when I heard him whimpering and hacking.

He was gone when I made it into the kitchen, and the linoleum became soaked in my grieving tears.

We buried him in his favorite napping spot in a casket I'd fashioned out of plywood. My mouth stayed shut for nine weeks, and when I did speak it was only while I was alone amidst the silent hulks. Thank God Fred wasn't around.

I was just recalling this when there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice screeching for entry.

"Oh goody!" I muttered to myself as I heaved up and lumbered towards the door, "Now for a delightful conversation with The Reaper. Gee, I hope she's got her scythe!"

I had barely made it over when the door flew open and a black-and-blonde streak charged towards me. Before I could open my mouth she cornered me.

"You drunken, inbred freak! How DARE you assault my daughters!" she rasped, on what sounded like a single breath.

I came back high and heavy.  
I said, "Hold it! HO-OLD IT! Don't you talk that way to me, you old bag of rusty nails and chalkboard! Don't you remember who you're talking to?

I'll gladly remind you; My name is Rutherford Dodge Cunningham, I'm the owner of this house, and how DARE YOU bust into my home and try to level the actions of your two slimeball daughters at ME!"

-"I've put up with your garbage for nearly three years now, but I'll be DANGED if I'm going to take it anymore!

Did you see any marks on them when they came to you? NO, YOU DIDN'T! Oh, I busted my TV, but I didn't touch a disease-ridden hair on them. If there was anyone assaulting anyone, it was them wrecking their own selves. Didn't you smell the smoke and booze on them?

Of course you did. After all, where else could they get the stuff outside of your stash. And here you barge in, spouting off at me! I ought to make you pay for damages right now!

But then, you probably sent them here in the first place. Yeah, you probably told Denny some garbage about having them come down and keep an eye on me, and then you turned a blind eye when they went out. Then you could frame me like you're trying to now.  
Well it backfired, girlie, and if you don't want a trip to the moon provided by Brahma Airlines, you'll haul you scraggy bottom out of my sight!"

Marceline seemed to weaken. I saw her slowly crane her head towards the couch and peer over it. For a second I actually thought she'd cop to that little line of bull…

Wrong.

When she turned her gaze back towards me, she had a snide grin so big the corners of her mouth looked like they were touching. (Betwixt you and me, I think they were).

"Of COURSE you'd say such a thing". She said, "You'd like me to believe that LIE, wouldn't you? Well, if that's the way you want to play it, then fine…just don't try to come around for Elvira anymore, or I'll sue you for trespassing, and all this stuff will finally be mi-iine, TEE-HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEEE!" she said, "Now, if you don't mind, I'll leave you to wallow in your own stupor. You just remember what I said".

If she hadn't have been a woman, I swear…

Unfortunately, it was just as she slammed the door that I fell to my knees. I finally felt like I'd collided with the oncoming train making the light in the tunnel. In a dying flash my mind's eye drew up a detailed image of Ellie's face, and her tender singing voice now racked my eardrums.

In a fleeting moment I wracked my brain for a solution, but my backstabbing imagination decided instead to flick up a sort of pain release I'd created to work off my grief after Fred split the earth.

The only problem was that my car was now a charred wreck in the county impound. But, there WAS a way around it. After a quick change of clothes, I was bound for the shop.

Four minutes later I was on the road, and soon the parking lot of Futura Lanes came into view.

And to my surprise there was one empty berth just big enough.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The Futura Lanes bowling alley had been in operation since 1981, although the guy who'd built the place had copied the design from an alley that'd been built in 1973. The only thing really modern inside was the automatic pinsetter and ball return.

Nonetheless, it was a welcome relief when my personal shoes hit the soft shag carpeting. And yes, I had my own shoes. I had my own ball, too, if I'm honest.

As I stepped onto the tongue-and-groove flooring and up to my usual slot on Lane Thirteen, I wrote my name on the score sheet, and then took an old wash rag out of my pocket and began to run it over my business fingers to warm them up. Then with a trembling step I eased to the line.

When I let that old ball fly it seemed to crash along the lane, hitting what sounded like every rut and bur in its path. Luckily I was too far off it to notice the scores of eyes darting towards me from the farther booths.

As I waited for my ball to return I sat down and opened an RC I'd bought in the concession area. I started taking a few long, comforting drags from it, and before too long a little bit of my stress resided. Of course, in my case Stress was small potatoes compared to my temper, which I'd always taken out on the pins.

After a few more frames that night I'd almost managed to lick the bulk of my anger. Unfortunately, when my temper stopped, that's when the grief kicked in. And for guys like me, it hit like an ax to the chest.

I'd just sat down for a break when it struck, and though I pretended to rest my head on the scoring table, the sight of my shoulders dropping gave me away. They always had. But then, so did the tears.  
And I don't give a tinker's dang what y'all think; real men DO cry. You wouldn't believe how many dipsticks there are thinking otherwise. I guess they've never read the old verse, "Jesus wept".

It took me nearly eight minutes to shake the first round. Thankfully no one had seen me. I hate it when folks feel like they've got to crowd around and give me sympathy. That's the reason I'd adopted old Thirteen; it was the loneliest one on the block.  
And you know, as I sat there on that lonely stretch I almost thought I had my grief whipped. But I hadn't bet on the owner's radio.

What's that got to do with things, you ask? Well, a song by the Oak Ridge Boys happened to fire up.  
And just when I couldn't sink any deeper, I heard that familiar guitar riff take off.

"Son-of-a…" I thought to myself. I then erased my name from the scoresheet and ambled out the side door and into the parking lot with my key in hand.

It took two shots of the starter to get my rig mobile, but I was soon under way. As I headed along I was thankful for the silence in the cab, but at the same time I wished that I wasn't alone.

Little did I know just how far I was from it.

By the time the wrecker's headlamps lit up the shortcut, it was already well into the night. Rain was pouring down by then, and I'd switched on the wiper. The rhythmic thumping lulled me as I drove on, the miles between the alley and home winding down.

***

After a few minutes of hard driving I was met with the welcome sight of the garage, its enormous shape standing out against the storm lights like a watermelon at an egg race.

I stopped only long enough to open the doors, and then I eased the drenched machine into its warm, dry berth.

Afterwards I shut and locked the building, then slogged over the muddy trail to the house, opting to use the side door.

***

I was tired. The only thing I could do before my strength failed me was topple onto my couch.

For a few brief moments I lay there, the overstuffed arms padding an aching head, while the rest supported a weary body.

In my mind I could only picture Elvira, and wonder how she would take the news of our relationship being torn asunder by her stepmother.

Of course, though I was loathe to admit it, I had allowed her to drive that wedge, as the threat of a home-robbing lawsuit had caused me to run off.

When I thought of this, a torrent of shame broke over me, as I had been taught by a braver man to never back down if I was in the right.

Alas, I had done so, and there didn't seem to be a turnaround. Until the back door came alive with a hammering sound and shrieks.

The sound brought me around and caused me to pop up as though on a spring, nearly tripping over everything in the house until I threw open the door leading to the back porch.

It was Elvira. She bruised something fierce, and her jeans were ripped open in several places, revealing multiple scratches and scrapes.

On further inspection I found that one arm had a compound fracture, and a bucket of blood was oozing out from around the exposed bone.

Quick as a flash I summoned my strength and gave the arm a hard tug until I heard the crack of bone rejoining bone. Then in a blur of motion I took an old switchblade I had out of its holster and sliced off a number of strips from my shirt and with a little help from the strips and an old walking cane,(as well as half a dispenser of alcohol gel), I fashioned a splint.

I made sure of the bindings, then stepped around the couch and snapped up the phone, hurriedly putting out a distress call.

When I was finished I whipped around and rushed back to Elvira's side. I knelt down alongside and took her good arm, and like a child in a thunderstorm I clung to her until the ambulance arrived.

It was as we were on our way that I saw other lights flashing along the road.  
Just one look out the big side window, and it was no time before I was met with another sight, namely two county cruisers parked in the Guilders' yard.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It was 4:05 before I saw Ellie after the paramedics checked her in. And in that time all I could do was pray. When they finally moved her into her room, I was at the doctor's heels wanting to know her condition.

"It isn't looking too well". The doctor said bleakly, "When we checked her over we found that in addition to a compound fracture of the forearm there was also internal bleeding, and she had torn ligaments in her lower left leg. We were able to stop the bleeding and stabilize her, but unfortunately she's managed to slip into a coma. We don't know when she'll come out of it".

As I listened to this, my heart beat slower and slower, and my blood became as thick as frozen axle grease.

You'd think that'd be enough, but that was before I got a closer look at Ellie:

Her lips were encased in the bezel of a long breathing tube, and there were more wires and equipment hooked to her than the shuttle.

Her arm was in a cast, and her leg was in a brace.

Worst of all, from somewhere I dared not look, I heard the sound of a heart monitor and a breathing machine; for a brief second I was transported back the last day I saw Uncle Fred in something other than a casket.  
It was then that I felt my life finally crash down around me.

When you're in a hospital at 5:07 in the morning, hopped up on the mix of jet fuel and toilet water they refer to as coffee, the mix has a way of doing a tap-dance on your attitude.

And with the news I'd received I was riding that thin line between being scared for Ellie, and boiling inside at the question of who or what did this to her. In fact, I was almost waiting for someone to give me that all-too-familiar push.

I'll bet that by now you're thinking the people to deliver that little nudge would be arriving by that time.  
And you'd be right.

I don't know how they found us, but they did. And if you don't think they'd be so frigid under the circumstances, then I must have failed to give you a better picture.

The head of the coven spoke first.

"I should have known she'd try something stupid". She hissed to the others. "Why she ran from the house, I don't know".

"Well it looks like this creep landed her in the hospital anyways". Lynnette sneered with a needle-like finger pointing to me and a pukey little grin.

"So he has". Mona hissed smugly, "Oh, well, I guess it saves me the trouble of waiting for him to botch up".

It was then that something within me snapped. For a brief second I was sixteen again and Walt was by my side, his growl shaking the windows. Heck, I could even feel the fur on his neck pressed against my knuckles.

These three whores had finally started me down the war path, and this time nothing would be able to defuse me. Leastways that's what I thought before, well…

What happened that morning has been called, "divine intervention", and it's a fitting title:

I was just getting up to raise cane when I saw something through the window, namely the red paint of a visitor's Cadillac sidling by in the parking lot.

In a curdling instant a single thought boiled up in my mind, filling my mouth with bile and causing me to shutter.

What would bring me to this state? Well if you'll remember that dream I spoke of you might be able to put it together, but I'll give you a hint anyways:

In the dream two things disappeared, and my car had already bit it….

"Sonofawhore". I rasped through clenched teeth.

I then slowly craned in to give Elvira a final kiss, and with grim determination I rose and quietly marched out the door, disregarding the evil looks from the gargoyles; they'd ceased to be a threat.

I went out into the street and hailed a cab, and after a few minutes I was on my way to my shop.

***

It was 6:27 when I arrived. The sun was just starting to rise in the cold November sky.

With no trace of emotion I doled out the fare to the cab driver and then briskly ambled up to the doors of the garage. With a flick of the wrist I took the key to the customer entrance out of my pocket, and I entered the shop.

At first I was afraid that I wouldn't be alone, but when I flipped on the security lights the only thing I saw was the dark shape of the wrecker.

This caused me to let off a sigh of relief, and I stepped across the floor into the office. Once inside I sat down, propped my feet on the desk, and after a bit of meditation, I commenced to forming my battle plan.

***

About an hour later, I still hadn't thought of anything. All I could do was let my eyes wander around the shop, and that's when I happened to see a ragged old poster for a long-past Demolition derby hanging over the door.

I'd never really liked those things up till then, but that didn't stop me from riding out with Uncle Fred to haul out the wreckage.  
On those trips we'd hitch up a long flatbed and haul them away three at a time. The ones that ran we'd overhaul with parts from those that got blasted, and after a couple of safety tests we'd donate them to the Salvation Army base uptown.

As I remembered one of those runs, the brick dropped:

It was an idea so simple, yet it hit me hard.

***

It was October of '91. We'd just loaded a stubborn Jackass of a Mercury Monterey onto the trailer, in behind an obliterated Lincoln and an ancient Rambler that'd dropped its transmission in the first bout. We'd just tied her down when I overheard an official talking to Fred.

"Better make sure no one gets a hold of that slammer." he said, "Ever since some creep pried it out of an impound lot, it's been haunting our rap sheet for years. We've only just managed to catch the punk."

I didn't know what the man was talking about, so I asked Fred what it was and he filled me in.

You see, in the world of demolition, there used to be two types of racers- honest, and then there were the drivers of slammers.

Their cars, much like their skulls, were chugged full of cement, usually packed into special bunkers mounted in behind the grilles, trunk lids, and behind the door panels.

Their radiators were mounted underneath, and lastly they were fitted with strong engines and stronger shocks.

If assembled correctly, those mean machines could meet APC's on their own terms. And that made them illegal.  
Of course, if you're in a spot like mine, the law book hucks itself through a plate-glass window.

And after a quick prayer for strength, I began construction.

Scores of days and nights along with gallons of coffee brushed past…my tired mind smoked away in high gear while my body slammed along in Four Low…the only times I stopped were on Sundays and when I went to school…I was nearly broken.

During that wicked time the only things that kept me firing were God's will, caffeine, and the occasional longing glance at Elvira's picture.  
It was a monumental task, but by 1:00 on Monday, November twentieth, (three days before Thanksgiving), I was finished.

And what did I produce? Well, it wasn't a Rolls Royce, but it fit my needs. What's important was that in a space of a few weeks I'd crafted an assault car partly of my own image, (The other 10% being borrowed from one of George Barris' designs.)

For the base I used a single axle deuce and a half we'd originally been converting pre-Marceline.

In a flash of madness, the body of a two ton Chevy pickup was fused with the modified tail section of a Thunderbird, and thanks to a metal-spec drill the combination fit smartly onto the Wrecker's frame.

On the front of the beast a set of eight square-lens headlights peered out from a pair of handcrafted fenders, with the grille from a junked Peterbilt stretching upward like a headstone between them.  
I'd stayed true to the slammer formula for the most part, the only difference being that I reinforced the poured cement with a double wall of half inch diameter rebars. The paintjob were two shots of black primer and a light masking of fluorescent reddish-orange.

For power I'd modified the stock V-8 Caterpillar Military diesel with a supercharger I'd picked from a hammered racing lorry.

This took a bit of extra plumbing, but soon I had that engine running like the ink on a counterfeit bill, with the transmission yoked to a new transfer case.

To compensate for the weight being pulled I'd also installed smaller gears in the rear differential to increase torque, and larger gears up front to increase speed.

Inside the cab I'd fitted a partial roll cage, a five-point harness, an extra-padded dashboard, and a cloth bucket seat.

After a little rummaging through the stockroom I was amazed to discover an old Steam tractor whistle Fred had bought from a lumber company, who had repurposed it for use as a lunch signal after their last wood burner struck out for the 'Big barn'.

I hooked it to a V-Twin mechanical compressor, (Its power derived from a magnetic propulsion system I'd built using a design I found in a science magazine), and stuck it in the bed concealed by the trunk lid,- which I bolted down and ported near the corners to keep it from blowing off.

There was no radio, but I managed to strap the little Seeburg to the dash, and to get that little touch of overkill I wired it to an old speaker Freddie'd stumbled over one night in Illinois, which I mounted right on the roof after remembering an old poster for a concert.

Also, in order to track possible sightings I wired in a spare CB, and mounted a large whip antennae to the rear bumper.

Furthermore, I mounted spoilers under the vehicle at the rear just behind the rear differential and at the front ahead of the radiator.

The last things I did were rivet on a three inch thick steel bumper to the front, its wedged design inspired by one I'd seen on a movie poster in the paper, and then I slapped on a tag, and stenciled its name onto the fenders.

With that, my weapon was finished. The only thing left to do was get some fuel and find a method of stalking my prey.

I didn't have to wait long, as a forecast of a heavy blizzard came in over the shop radio when I finished. From what I'd been told, most of the killings happened in such weather, and with them also happening in desolate locations I had a rough idea of where to look.

A bit too convenient? Perhaps, but I just viewed it as good luck.

I would have planned my attack that day, but as I sat down to rest I passed out again.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It was 7:00 in the morning when I was brought to by the sound of wind in the trees. By then the fire in the stove had gone out, and the mercury inside now read twelve above. That is butt-cold, ladies and gents.

My body shivered hard, and when I tried to heave out of my seat, I felt stiff from head to toe.

Rather than fuss with the stove I ran some laps around the shop. Afterwards I settled onto the running board of my new toy.

On a whim, I crawled in the cab and turned on the ACC. Then I punched in a song on the jukebox. Within moments I was warming up to the growling voice of Howlin' Wolf and his men, with the harmonica riffs driving my body and the baseline making my trembling hands thud in time on the massive padded steering wheel I'd mated to a new safety column.

For a few seconds I was able to forget the true purpose of the vehicle I was sitting in, but then, just before the song ended I started feeling that something needed to be done; that I had somewhere to be.

What was it? Well, the coroner'd just released Dennis' body the day before. The funeral was set for this day.  
"Crud". I said flatly as I hopped down from the cabin. Thankfully the nap had built up enough strength for me to walk to the house and prepare.

***

A friend of mine, a Mr. Virgil Leadbetter, was driving the hearse that day along with his brother Arnold, who was one of the funeral directors.

I managed to catch them before the party left the chapel, and they let me ride middle-seat with them. They parked in the old dirt lot at the edge of the cemetery, and figuring that I wasn't welcome, I ducked down so the mourners wouldn't see me.

When I heard the sermon begin I slipped out and eased to the back of the hearse, propping up on the back bumper.

The weather outside was suited to the occasion, because while the preacher gave the eulogy, low winds moaned in the trees, and the skies above were the color of wood smoke.

Despite this, as I listened quietly drops of soft and warm rain pattered down my head and over my face, covering my tears.

I heard the preacher bid everyone to pray over the grave, and though I couldn't hear a word spoken, I prayed right along with them.

When the prayer ended, I heard a fiddle begin to play, "Nearer my God, to thee".

It was then that I had to turn, for not so long ago that song had been played over Uncle Fred's remains as they lowered the casket.  
The only difference was that it was played on a lone harmonica, and the musician was a feeble young man who was nearly strangled on his tears.

I could only thank God that Elvira was still stove up in the hospital as I ducked back into the hearse for the ride back. My aching mind reeled with thoughts of what might've happened if she'd been able to attend.  
Greif's a pain in the tail, and if it's a case like this one, it never truly leaves.

For as Virgil started the engine my own sorrow flared up again, and with the taste of those tinny droplets returning to my tongue, it was a coin flip as to whether or not the thing residing in my shop would be used for another job.

I decided I'd better save it for Christine. No sense risking jail time for a pigmy gnat when you can stomp a roach for free.

I stayed quiet on the way to the house, but just as I wheeled into the yard I saw a dull brown Impala sitting in the drive, and a lone figure perching on the front porch swing.

"Dang, who's this Bozo?" I wondered as I brought the truck to a stop.

Slowly I undid the belt and climbed down out of the cab and then hopped off the running board.  
I couldn't make out who it was at first, but one look at the car's black rims and faded paint told me that it was a government vehicle. (Of course, the boxes of donuts on the dash and the badge hanging from the mirror was a clue).

As I neared the porch, the figure turned out to be Detective Junkins, and by the look on his face, I could tell that my day was far from over.

***

"Nice rig". He said as I climbed the steps.

"Oh I don't know; yours looks good, too". I said, my voice fading onto a slightly depressed sigh.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

I said, "Well, I just got home from a friend's funeral, and now I'm here talking to you. By the way, what are we talking about?"

"Well". He said, "We've been conducting an investigation into the murder of a Mr. Dennis Guilder. His wife said that you were in a relationship with his daughter, and we wondered if you might have anything to help in the case".

"I think I can cough up something". I said flatly, "What do you know so far?"

He said, "Oh, well let's see. The crime occurred on the night of November the 3rd, at about 10:35. According to the statements by various faculty members, Mr. Guilder had stayed in his classroom grading papers after being delayed by a staff meeting.

The parking lot security cameras showed a two-tone Plymouth matching your description force its way into the building Via the back door at 10:36, later recording it as it charged through the hall, catching Mr. Guilder at the end of it.

It was later seen smashing through the window off the common's area and into the parking lot. A late-night janitor later discovered the remains, after which he called 9-1-1.

We believe, or rather I believe, that this is some sort of revenge plot, and that there is also a connection between your cases".

I said, "Speaking of my description, have you ran the tag yet?"

"I was just about to get to that". He said, "When we ran the number you gave us, it turned over a string of vicious hit-and-run murders in a town called Libertyville, PA, and what's more they all involved the same automobile; specifically, a Nineteen Fifty-Eight Plymouth Fury Sport coupe with a 350 Cu. In. Golden Commando V-8, with a custom paintjob consisting of Autumn Red and ivory white, which tied perfectly with your description".

"Anything else?" I asked, hoping that this wasn't going to knee me in the 'cajones.

He said, "Well its funny you should ask. When we checked the registration we discovered that the vehicle was owned by a Mr. Arnold Cunningham, the son of one of the last victims.  
Reports showed that Mr. Cunningham was friends with the deceased, or at least until January of 1979, when he allegedly went insane and attempted to kill him and his former girlfriend, a Mrs. Leigh Ackerman, or Cabot as she was known then.

He died in the act when he was propelled through the windshield of the vehicle in question, which was witnessed in his mother's killing three hours prior".

"Oh, I knew that". I said, "I also know that this woman's name was Regina Cunningham, and she was heading for the hospital because she was in labor at the time of the incident. I ought to know, because I was the kid she was having".

"Can you prove this?" he asked.

"Yes sir. Follow me". I said, leading him into the house and up the stairs. When we reached the tenth step, I pointed to a framed newspaper article I'd inherited when dad left, which hung alongside my birth certificate, and lastly a shelved model of an old Ed "Big Daddy" Roth custom that we'd built together when I was five.

"I think these should do it". I said, carefully unhanging the frames and handing them to him.

We stepped back down into the living room and carefully he dismantled the frames and examined the evidence.

As he read my own memories of our first meeting flashed up like photo slides.

Cautiously I said, "While we're going over history, do you mind telling me why you flinched when I gave that description earlier?"

It was then that I saw him tense up. For a second he was perfectly silent. Then he spoke.

"I should have figured you'd ask me that". He said coolly, "To put it simply, you and I have something in common:  
My old man was the gumshoe working on your brother's case a few years ago.  
Apparently he got a little too close, and he was ran off the road by a car with the same specs as your brother's. He didn't survive.  
I was just out of the academy when I got the news".

"My condolences". I said.

"What bothered me was the brutality of it. When they found his car it looked like it'd been hit by a train.  
Can you imagine someone doing that much damage on purpose?"

"Funnily enough, I can.  
-That investigation lasted so long that coupled with the grief, it drove my dad to suicide. And let me tell you, the pictures of what happened then weren't pretty either". I said, a low growl lining my voice.  
"Sounds like you're still angry about it". Mr. Junkins said.

Nothing could've been farther from the truth. After all, angry is what you are when some dipstick stiffs you on a bill.  
What I was feeling hadn't even been named yet. And beings as it was compounded by what I'd went through after his death; I don't think I could've named it myself.

Of course, I had no way of aiming it towards the police. They were only doing their job, and it wasn't their fault that the investigation lasted for such a ludicrous time.

Mr. Junkins left after a few more questions. As I watched him pull away from the porch, I caught a distinct, worried feeling. This worsened when I happened to look out towards my lowly garage and noticed that the doors were cracked open.

An image of Christine lurking inside with the intent of framing me sprung up. Luckily it vanished as soon as I remembered that she'd probably marked me as dead when she rolled onto the bridge.

And besides, she would've wanted me ground into the macadam far more than behind bars.

Still, I held to my wits as I crept towards the building.

Quietly I slunk to the side door and peeked just over the windowsill.

I couldn't exactly make out anything due to the garage's quirks, but mercifully there didn't look to be anything resembling a car's form inside. I then scanned the backyard and the woods that edged it, that too came up empty.

With a huff of relief I turned and walked back to where I'd parked my machine.

Within a few minutes I'd managed to stash it from view in the shop, and with one last check of the area, I walked back to the house.

I had just entered the kitchen when my body seemed to cave in, the strain of my labors having finally caught up in full force.  
(Apparently, the pains I'd felt along the way were only warning shots.)

I barely managed to climb the stairs when suddenly I toppled sideways into the wall.

This left me stunned for a pinch, but soon I heaved to my feet and scraped along, my every step feeling like I was walking on needles.

I creaked into the bathroom to check the damage in the mirror, and that's when I saw the full extent:

My face was haggard and pale, and my shoulders sloped down at fearful angles.  
My skin had turned almost ashen, and my uncovered eye so bloodshot that hardly a shard of white poked through.

Sufficed to say I hadn't noticed any of these changes until then, but then I'd have never believed that I could have run down so fast.

"….?" I thought, jolted by the cadaver in the mirror. It was then that I noticed that my bandages had come loose. Foolishly, I decided to undo them the rest of the way.

When I did I was shocked by the disturbing picture I uncovered.

There was almost a jigsaw of scars down my face from where they'd removed the glass, some of which crossing over my right brow, though thankfully none had made it to my eyelid.  
Speaking of which, I happened to crowbar that eye open and I found that miraculously, I could see out of it.

And though I felt like something I can't say, I whispered silent thanks. Shortly after, I lurched and swayed into my bedroom, collapsing into my bed like a sack of rocks.

Of course, proper sleep was dang near impossible, but somehow I made do. But if anyone thinks that my slumber was peaceful, think again.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The scene that played in my aching mind as I lay bombed out of my gourd was one I would not be able to shake for a number of months:

I remember that I was in the second floor hall.

While passing one of the abandoned rooms on the floor I was overcome with a wave of curiosity.

I tested the knob, and to my amazement it swung open with only a muffled squeal. And though the bulb was another dud, the window shade was up, allowing the evening sun to peek in through the dust.  
"Son!" I muttered as I surveyed the dingy expanse; it's a real shock when you haven't seen inside your old room for a while.

It took a few minutes to adjust to the light, but soon I was picking up memories like dirt in my boot treads.

I poked around and by chance I opened my old closet. When I did a smirk crossed my lips, because in the still-rancid depths I saw an old photo of Mona duct taped to an even older dartboard, and what's more I remembered where I'd stored the darts.

The sound of dart quills piercing wood filled the room, and a bit of joy filled me as I racked up well-grouped bull's eyes. The best part was that old Mona was looking over her shoulder in the picture.

I'll let you figure out why that was a good thing.

***  
'Was down to five darts when I felt someone's eyes on the back of my neck. Then from behind I heard the voice.

"You need to lower your arm a bit". It said. And though I knew right off who it was, the catharsis had set in so deep that I hardly broke stride. Instead, I left the game and eased around.

He was sitting on my old bed, and was now in a fresh blue suit. I also noticed that despite having some age to him, he looked like he had in the paper.

"Nice suit". I said, choking down the urge to try and ring his spectral neck.

"Thanks". He said, "Buried in it. Cost the undertaker forty bucks".

"Lucky dog. Crap, I'm still wearing your hand-me-downs".

"That reminds me, you look like heck". He said.

"You ought to know what it looks like, brimstone breath".

"Brimstone Breath? Is that what you call someone who's trying to help you?"

"Helping me?!" I howled, "You call scaring the shank out of me and only leaving me with a newspaper article helping?

And what about Dennis?  
He tried to save you and how did you help him, other than sending me to tell him about Christine instead of floating up there yourself? And furthermore, that's one thing I want to know; why was she after me anyways?"

"First off, I couldn't help him is because he couldn't see me. Only you can do that. And as for that other part, well just think of it dummy. She's already gone after you twice, once when you were a baby, and once last month.  
Both times you've survived with hardly any damage".

"So what; does that make me any great shakes?

If that's so forgive me for saying, but I'd have rather ate hot top.

Because ever since you two showed up, my life's been running downhill. And you'd better count your blessings that you're already dead, because if you were still mortal it'd take a fleet of power shovels to dig me out of you!"

It was then that Arnie went still, and then he dropped his head.

"I'm sorry you've been having trouble". He said, "I'm sorry that you think I'm the scum of the earth at the moment. But you got to believe me…I'm not here to hurt you. Heck, I've got a bone to pick with Christine myself".

I said, "You do? Well crud Arnie, from what Mr. Guilder told me, it didn't sound like it. No, from what I heard, you once told him that you loved her; you even warned him not to interfere.

And from the way he talked about it, you were acting nutty when you said it."

"That's not strictly true. I told him he'd be alright if he stuck with me; stayed on my side".

"And let me guess, anyone who didn't turned into pizza. Does that about cover it?"

"You don't understand… I was drunk. Drunk, and afraid of what Christine might do to him. I'd come to believe that she'd done all those things, and I didn't want him to end up…to end up…"

"Six feet under, like he is now". I finished coldly.

"Believe me, He was my only friend. He protected me when it seemed fate itself was against me".

It was then that a touch of bitterness gurgled up from my stomach.

"Fate? Against you? HAH! From what I heard all you had to put up with was an overzealous mom and a oily-haired nut with a switchblade.

If you want to see a deck stacked against someone, look at me.

From what dad told me, the first couple of months before my birth I was mistaken for Menopause.

The symptoms of it and pregnancy are nearly alike; did you know that? I'm just lucky that Mom gave up the smokes and alcohol before it wrecked me.

Speaking of Mom, both she and Pop are no more, as are Uncle Fred and now Dennis.

If that's not enough my girlfriend's lying busted up in the hospital.

And while we're at it, that nut Repperton's baby piss alongside of what I'm dealing with.

Didn't you see that demon spawn that blasted through my door? Try dealing with that for three years.

And finally I get the feeling that you let that rolling lunatic go after me ".

"I didn't let her do anything". Arnie said, "I didn't even know that she'd taken mom out until they buried me".

"How's that?" I growled.

"I heard it from mom when I replaced her as cemetery guard. That's also when I learned about you.

I would have visited sooner, but unfortunately the only way a guard can leave his post is by being replaced; and with my luck, it was ten years before anyone was planted there again. Dad sends his love by the way". Arnie said.

I said, "Thanks for the message, but he should have told you what happened after you got yourself plugged.

That's how he ended up in the grave, see.

And what about the rest of it? Why am I the only one who can see you, and what am I supposed to do to get out of this mess?"

"I wondered when you were going to ask that". He said, "The reason why you're the only one to see me is because you were the person we chose to avenge us, and even then you're not able to do anything yet. Don't worry though; I've got a plan".

"What do you mean I'm not able to do anything yet? And what's this about a plan?" I asked, the acid in my gut starting to lose potency.

"Well, you can only fight fire with fire. And never mind about my plan. You just get some fuel for that tank you built. I'll be around later".

I was about to say more, but it was then that he pulled another Houdini and vanished. And before I could make any sense of things I woke up.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was two hours till daybreak when I awoke. I cracked one eye and looked around for any, 'surprises', but there was nothing in the place that I hadn't put in. The only noticeable difference was that the clock had jumped ahead seven hours.

Slowly I rolled off into the floor, and that's when I noticed that by some means my quilt had wrapped itself around me.

After a few seconds of getting untangled I hauled myself to my feet; luckily the blanket was there to cushion my knees.

The second attempt worked better, and though everything on me was as sore as anything you can think of, I was soon doddering up to my closet to put on something friendlier to my aching frame.

I reached in and grabbed a moth-eaten sweat-suit and my favorite robe, and within minutes I was creeping the halls, all the while trying to figure out what Arnie had meant. Of course, what I was really trying to do was figure him out period.

After all, he had shown no signs of violence, not even when I threatened him, and then there was the matter of deducing that plan he spoke of. After a half hour I still hadn't pieced anything together.

When five more minutes passed, my thoughts shifted to getting a jump on preparations for the coming night. Not wanting to deal with the delay of a full breakfast, I opted instead for a cup of espresso.

I was sitting on the porch when the sun rose, shining blood red as it peeked over the horizon.  
There was a light mist over the ground, and it was so cold that I had to throw on a jacket and a scarf.

With the coffee in hand I moved out to the front porch and quietly sat down in my old rocker, my feet propping up on an old footstool, and my ears tuning into the wildlife.

Every four or five seconds I'd take a sip , and to help me think clearer, I backed it with a huff and a chomp off of a chocolate cookie stick I pretended was a cigar, (a habit I'd picked up ever since they'd stopped making bubble gum cigarettes).

I began to figure a way of smuggling fuel for my machine. Simply poking over to a gas station even in daylight would be risky. But on the other hand, sneaking around with a syphon hose and a gas can was also a bad idea.

Fortunately, about halfway through an idea crawled to the front of my mind; a memory of just what kind of engine I'd be running in that behemoth.

With a little probing, I recalled Uncle Freddie telling me that those big deuces were built to run almost any combustible liquid short of Nitro. That gave me an idea.

***

Sometime later, a woman up the road would come home to discover a change in her liquor cabinet.

A bottle of white tequila drained and refilled with pure spring water..

A bottle of rot-gut whiskey changed into heavily watered and unsweetened red tea..

A large brown gin bottle housing city tap water, dyed black with food coloring..

And a bottle of Thunderbird wine with a smudge of her daughter's lipstick on the rim.

Of course, where I really excelled in luck was in finding the spare key under the back door mat.

And I hadn't stopped at booze.

I'd also pulled the same stunt with the nearly eight gallons of cheap perfume they had in their rooms.

Let me tell you, it wasn't easy crawling up and downstairs multiple times on elbows and knees to pull those maneuvers.

Thankfully I'd had the presence of mind to wear safety pads; in addition to that I'd also dawned a long sleeve denim shirt and duct taped the cuffs to my gloves to cover my arms.

After I'd returned home and put that vile mixture in the tank, I burned the rag I made the smudge with.

I then hot-footed it down to a bulk supply store at the foot of the grade and bought a few more gallons of perfume wholesale for a buck-two.

That's a good deal for forty gallons.

As far as the remaining space in the tanks, well, making a couple of intentionally scattered trips to avoid detection, I closed the gap with two bulk bottles of rubbing alcohol, a gallon of off-road diesel I'd bought at a truck stop nearby, a bit of lamp oil, three gallons of regular road diesel I'd syphoned from the wrecker, some cheap mouth wash, five gallons of Kerosene from my heater tank, and ten gallons of burnt motor oil I'd had stored up behind the shop.

When the last drop was poured, I decided to test the fruit of my labors. I was rewarded with the sound of my creation roaring into life.  
And as I let the engine idle to check for any defects, I pictured the sight of those skankasauruses clawing at each other, which invoked a grin of sadistic joy.

"That's them down. Now for the big fish". I said to myself as I shut off the mill. And it was because of that little bit of sunshine that for the first time in a while, I felt at peace.

Unfortunately, soon after I decided to visit Ellie. And when I started towards the wrecker, that's when it happened:

I was halfway around the front of my creation when out of the blue I felt something hit me over the back of the head, turning my vision into blackness.

You heard it right; lights out again. I know that's getting old, but hey, that's just how things were rolling. I don't know what else I can say, except that when I came too, well…


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

At first everything was black…then slowly things began to lighten up…

For a couple of seconds I couldn't see one thing that wasn't a swirling, blurred mass…

I began picking up a feeling, like something had latched onto my hands and I felt something screwy hooked to my knees. What's more, it was as if I was lying on my belly, but at the same time I felt like I was levitating.

Speaking of which there was this feeling in my gut like I'd swallowed a bucket of wet mortar.

I tried to look around, but I couldn't turn my head. That wasn't to be the strangest part however; I suddenly noticed that there were these bars in front of me. It was then that I also realized that my eyes felt drier than mouth the time I tried a pickled jalapeno.

In an attempt to flush them I tried to blink, but all I got was a shallow tremble.

I tried to flex my temples, thinking that I could use them to force the lids down, and that's when it went off:

There was a loud clack, and then from out of nowhere I saw lights…bright lights, stretching out ahead and bouncing off the front doors.

I tried to call for help, but instead of my voice, I met with a short blast of my creation's whistle from somewhere behind me.

"What the?!" I yelped in my mind. Just then I felt a cold breeze wash over my side, and I heard footsteps pulling in close. But before I could make sense of anything, I saw something. Scratch that -two things.  
Two things that looked like familiar legs clad in more familiar denim.  
I just barely managed to look down, and what I saw chilled me fast, because if things weren't bad enough, I found I was looking down at my own brahma's.

I looked back up, slowly and steadily tracing the expanse of the figure that wore my clothes. Finally I reached the top… guess what I saw.

I tried to ask him what had had happened, but the only thing that came out was another toot of the whistle.  
"Oops. Sorry about that. Hang on". He said. He then snapped his fingers and suddenly I heard a click and the sound of static from inside the cab.

"Son" I said as my voice returned, "And here folks said I looked bad in them duds. Tell me sludge-bucket, what are you doing with my body?"

For a second he was silent, but then I saw a crooked, goofball smirk cross what used to be my lips.

"Didn't I tell you I had a plan?" he asked, and then he reached to the side and wheeled an old inspection mirror in front of me. At first I couldn't figure out why, but then I got a good look…

"What did I see?" you ask. Well, it wasn't The Love Bug looking back at me, and it was no time before I realized just what he'd meant by, 'fight fire with fire'.

Before I asked anything else he said, "Relax. And while we're at it, here-."

I felt a hand on the radiator, and then felt this slight tingling throughout what I guessed would be my new body.

"How?" I asked when the feeling resided.

"I forgot to tell you Dodge. Before I came to visit, I spent some time doing research on a lot of things. One day I found a journal a man had written about a thing called Spiritual transference. It's sort of like possession mixed with body switching. And when I saw this car you built, I happened to remember it".

"Well how'd you do it?" I asked, slightly fixated as I'd just realized that I could now see rearward thanks to the mirrors.

"It was simple. When I knocked you out I just possessed the car, and then I switched bodies with you. The only other thing I did was zap you with a bit of electricity to bond your spirit to the metal and fixed it so you could control yourself. I also tweaked your mind so you knew how to do it."

"Well thanks for that, but somehow I don't feel right about this. What guarantees do I have that this isn't some trick to steal my body?"

"If I wanted to really steal this thing, do you think I'd put you into any other body, let alone something that could mash me flat? And furthermore, why would I want to look this ugly permanently?" he said, a trace of laughter easing through his voice.

"Who are you calling ugly?" I asked, "Wait; never mind. Just open one of those doors and let me out. When I'm out close it behind me and throw both of those crossbars. I need you here as a look out. There's a radio in the office already set, and there's some leftover coffee in the pot if you can take it."

"Okay. Be careful". Arnie said, walking towards the door.

Soon the orders were executed, and I was on the road just an hour before sundown. Luckily I'd installed tinted windows, otherwise with the last minute travelers on the road the sight of my empty cab may have turned things grisly.  
Speaking of which, as I rolled along my new mind conjured the darkest plan I could rake up.

And just as dusk arrived I found my hiding place. A few hours of snowfall later, things went into effect as the dreaded blizzard set in.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25  
Thursday, November 22 1998, 12:05 A.M.-

By this time the blizzard was gaining strength, dumping ten inches worth of snow over the buildings and the streets.

Three miles outside of town Christine was driving along, her headlights scanning the powdery expanse of the road ahead.

And though her vision for the time was clear, what remained blurry was idea of what her next steps would be now that Dennis and Leigh were conquered.

All she knew was that she had to keep moving.

*

As she rolled over the snowy tarmac, her radio picked up on a string of calming music, while the dial shown green…

Her engine purred comfortably...

All was right in the world, at least to her liking.

But just as she entered a dark, wooded stretch near a pond, it happened:

She was just crossing the bridge over the water, when from over her glassy shoulder she heard a sound coming from a distance.

As she listened it sounded like something she'd only heard when her first owner, an old Army man by the name of Roland LeBay, was stationed near a pulpwood mill; that of a low, echoing whistle blast.

It sounded once, then for a few seconds everything was quiet, the only sound left being that of the falling snow.

For a moment Christine idled down, her mirrors flexing around as she scanned her surroundings. The only things she spotted right off were a couple of snow drifts at the foot of a large hill bordering the right side of the road.

This caused her to relax, her mind simply labeling the noise as the sound of a steady wind that was rising in the trees. With this settled she continued to drive on.

She had only just cleared the bridge when out of nowhere ultra-bright headlights flashed on, their beams enveloping her and projecting her shadow eight feet ahead.  
From nowhere there came an unearthly warbling sound, followed by a diesel engine cranking.

She looked back just in time to see a custom coupe of immense proportions advancing towards her just a few yards behind, its engine growling like an angry gator.

Before she could respond, the engine of the beast rapped loudly, and then in a blink it shot forward, its massive snow-chained tires spinning furiously and kicking up six giant rooster tails of slush, grit, and even flecks of pavement.

All the while, the paint on its towering body cast a strange orange light over the ground.

It Christine took a second to regain her composure, but when she did, whatever the future held was cast aside in favor of escaping this strange attacker.

The chase continued until they reached an intersection, where Christine slammed into a hard right turn, throwing a wave of gray muck into the oncoming lane as she skittered around.

If she'd have still had Arnie in the cab with her she wouldn't have had so much trouble, as his love had given her an unexplainable edge. But with him having separated from her at death, she was now finding difficulty maintaining her lead.

In a strange twist of fate, as she rounded a curve a few yards away everything went quiet. She could no longer see neither the lights of the beast nor hear the bass-note rumble of the engine.  
The only things making noise were the swaying pines and the arctic blizzard winds that had been gaining turbulence since she'd left the lot.

Steadily the miles covered increased, with houses and road side businesses passing by until Christine found herself entering a tiny stretch of quiet city blocks that was better known as Hazzard Township.

By this time the Christmas lights had been hung on the buildings and stretched between light poles, their miniscule bulbs providing a warm, calming atmosphere as she glided along the nearly silent avenues, with her radio almost whispering strains of the late night program on the only oldies station she could pick up; that of SONNY100 in Atlanta.

The only moving vehicle she encountered was a snow plow bulling its way through the town square, banking snow against the sidewalks in front of the towering courthouse.

Almost as quickly as they'd sprung up the rows of buildings dispersed, and Christine found herself once more on a lonely road, this one leading into the dark peaks of the Appalachians.

Soon the road began to climb, the long straightaway dissolving into a string of curves. And though the coupe was nowhere in sight, as she ran deeper into the hills Christine still felt a sense of being stalked.

It was this feeling that gnawed on her psyche until suddenly she spotted an orange glow up ahead and heard a diesel engine.  
Luck seemed to smile on her here, because just before the curve she saw the entrance of an empty dirt road leading into a steep cut-through. And though it looked a little foreboding she veered onto this path.

That was a grave mistake on her part; the first in a few years. How well she would have done to have instead made the curve.  
Had she have done so she'd have discovered that glow was just a road flare up ahead, while the engine belonged to an old blue rollback whose driver was winching up a hammered Corvette what had skidded into the rail.

As she slogged over the path, the mighty rock faces that bookended the road on both sides threw off an unnerving darkness that, had it not been for her four seal-beam lights would have swallowed her like a crocodile devouring a chicken.

Even when the walls ended in a downward curve a ways later, she was still anxious. She was also running low on fuel.

As if by magic, the lights of a little gas station perked up at the foot of the grade, and better still there were signs of life inside.

***  
The attendant was a bulky middle-aged man in a Polyester fedora and an old flannel jacket, with Redwing boots propped up on a tiny desk as he dozed in his office.

When Christine eased in, the sound of her engine shutting off nudged him awake.

Carefully he stumbled out, anxiously making his way around the patches of ice to the High Test pump where she'd stopped.

Without even a word, he flipped open the lid and unscrewed the gas cap. Then with a deft hand he took the pump nozzle off its rocker and slid it into the mouth of the filler neck. With one more flick of the wrist he pulled up the little chuck that held the handle.

Within a second Christine felt the cool rush of some of that good old Ethanol-free High-Test pouring into her tank, while the hum of the aging pump motor set her mind at ease.

She was just about topped off when a breeze passed by, sending what felt like icy fingers scurrying along her bodywork.  
Right about then the pump clunked to a stop. The sound attracted the attendant, who'd been talking on an old base radio during the fill up.  
He was just about to take the nozzle out when he suddenly clutched his side, muttered something about going to the bathroom, and then in a blink he disappeared around the far corner of the building.

After a moment she heard the door bang shut, and she commenced to creep away.  
She contemplated destroying the station, but her thoughts were interrupted as she began to pick up on a small, but distinct trembling coming up from the ground.  
From somewhere beside her she heard a small clattering sound. She trained her shotgun mirror down just in time to see a tiny wrench jitter off the concrete island into the snow.

Suddenly the trembling picked up, the frequency rising until the ground shook like a ten penny finishing nail being hit over the head by a greasy ball peen hammer.

Then from behind her came up on the bank she heard the groaning hoot of the whistle, while the on the wind came the odor of that wretched fuel mixture.  
In her driver mirror she saw eight shafts of white light flash across the sky like lightning, slicing through the murky darkness.

A half second went by and the trees above became bathed in a familiar orange glow, their outlines binding together in such a way as to conjure an image of a forest fire.

Rather than wait any longer Christine took this sight as a cue to burn out. And burn out she did, wrenching the nozzle off the pump handle and tearing away from the island. (Thankfully the pump had an automatic shutoff for such an emergency.)

At any rate she was mere yards away when in a blind instant there came a screeching of brakes, followed by the crash of timbers and the rumble of descending metal.

And moments later she found herself eyeing down a river bank a few yards away.

Before this night the Waccamaw River was only a sluggish little creek, lazily making its way along her banks and almost slumbering when she passed under the shadow of a long covered bridge that the locals called 'Half-quart', (mostly because it was believed that that amount was drunk by the man who'd built it).  
Despite this, the bridge had held for fifty years.

Unfortunately things were destined to change, as the little Waccamaw had been getting supplement from the blizzard, rising steadily until she'd become the raging torrent that Christine was now bearing witness to that night.

And as she rushed closer, she heard Half-quart's support beams creaking fearfully.  
Just as she came within a yard of the structure she heard a thunderous crunch as one of the stone piers on the right side cracked in half, with one slice sticking around to hold the bridge and the other splashing into the icy water.

It was now that she realized that her options were bleak.

If she turned back she'd be drug under the thundering tires of the coupe, -which had managed to skitter down the hill and was now barreling up the road behind her, pouring it on as thick as sorghum.

If the bridge gave out, she'd be dumped into the frothy rapids below.

You should have seen what happened then; Christine put on a burst of speed, her engine shrieking like a female panther caught in a steel trap and her radio blaring.

In a second she was in the middle of the groaning bridge, and then she was on the other bank, dust rising from her wheels despite the fact that it was winter.

Just outside the structure she rounded a wooded curve. At the edge of it she paused, training her shotgun mirror down towards the compromised pier.

"Break, dang you! Break!" she thought as she stared at the doomed structure. To her displeasure it held.

**

Then it came; the racketous war cry of the onrushing engine, and the haunting groan of the whistle.

The beast's headlights shot through the undermined bridge, while the wind sped into a gale.

Then came the horrendous squawking of rotting planks under heavy weight, while jets of scorching exhaust blew entire rows of shingles off the sagging roof.

From far below, the support beams began to crack like Death's knuckles, while the framework shook and rattled.

The beast was nearing the end when the bum side of the bridge started slouching heavily. Then in a blast of torrid water it went, dragging the car into the wreckage, its engine block and exhaust stacks sending up billowing clouds of smoke and steam.

The last thing Christine heard out of it was the hiss of the sizzling water.

This coaxed an air of satisfaction, and with a little wheel spin she rolled away, her radio slapping out a touch of Danny and the Juniors.

An hour or so passed that night, and the road grew darker still as Christine slowly wound her way further into the mountain.

The blizzard had changed to a booming ice storm, pelting her with shards of hail the size of bottle caps.

Surprisingly, the gravel filtered into a tiny three-way intersection on a snow-covered ribbon of asphalt barely wide enough to accommodate the yellow lines down the middle.

In a fit of caution Christine cut her side-views out in either direction, watching and listening intently for any oncoming traffic.

With the path seemingly clear, she crawled out into the right lane, two thin plumes of steam trailing from her Sears Glass-packs and her engine running so slow it was like she was merely idling as she passed by a scant procession of tiny cabins as well as an odd mix of mobile homes and cinder-block garages.

It must have been a few minutes in when she passed a sparsely-lit line of logging sheds, the heavy machinery beneath them only blackened lumps standing out against the bluish-gray glow of the lamps.

Sonny100 had vanished into a squelch of static a mile before, forcing her to shut her radio off, thus leaving her to listen to the pop and crunch of her whitewalls on the hard-packed snow.

The light of the sawmill cast eerie shadows on the road ahead, while lightning checkerboarded the skies above. Over the wind she swore she heard an engine rumbling behind her.

She searched the road behind her…nothing.

She looked to the sides… nothing.

With her mirrors empty she rounded a curve, only to draw to a stop in sheer terror when just ahead a jagged spider web raked across the sky bright as day, and a familiar sight loomed:

Water was still dripping from the chassis rails…

A frozen horny-head fish hung gouged over one of the brush-guards like an untied scarf, while chunks of wood sat wedged in behind the front bumper.

Out to one side a snarl of abandoned hooks and fishing line dragged from the filler cap, and a long gash ran along the top of one of the door panels.

The headlights, their considerably large bulbs just barely standing above tiny reservoirs of murky creek water, were now barely able to produce even a flickering beam.

Just as Christine eased within a yard's range, the mangled exhaust pipes suddenly harked up eight blasts of soot and muck, casting the bile upon the road.

Through one of the visible slivers of windshield she watched bolts of blue and purple light spark in the cab, and then died out as fast as it came.

Then from the still dripping speaker on its roof, she heard what could only be described as the amplified sound of a record player whirring to life.

Not wanting to see what lay ahead, Christine began to back up, a slight flashback of Halloween night playing in her mind as she quickly realized that the proverbial blade was starting to twist.

She'd only made it five feet when the pipes erupted with jets of sooty steam, with bursts of oily black smoke and bright orange flames striking out on their heels as the beast's engine clattered into motion in an explosion of cataclysmic squawking.

The row steadied out quickly, however, and above the sound she heard a strange new instrument lying down licks like track ties.  
The headlights blazed into life like a neutron bomb, though only three of the eight bulbs were functioning.

In a swift movement the iron mountain raced forward, its remaining tire chains clawing the ground, casting shards of their weaker links to the fore winds like shells from a Tommy gun.

Christine screamed backwards, her transmission nearly failing with the shock as she whipped around and punched Drive, her single drive wheel spinning nearly useless for a half second in the snow.

As the two heaps of steel hurtled over the ancient pavement the air was filled with their strife. Their engines roared like prehistoric beasts on the hills, and their tires screamed like banshees in the curves.  
By the time they came to a clear spot, the wind sent snow and ice thrumming against their sides like frozen bullets.  
It was a good thing that the road was empty.

At one point Christine swerved onto a little back road, little knowing that the thing was more crooked than a politician. To her surprise the coupe slammed past on the main road, its whistle hooting like the end of days.

This was a bit of relief to her as the sound of the moaning died away, but it was enough for the time as she proceeded through the blackened passage to make her stop near the middle, shutting her engine and lights off to allow the darkness to shroud her as she rested.

When her strength returned, she considered both back-tracking and or staying planted, but rather than risk her fate she resumed her venture on the little road, her back end at times swinging out on the patches of ice ahead.

When little road gave way, she found herself drawing to a halt at a four way stop, with giant berms of plow-banked snow stretching out on all sides into oblivion and ivory dusted pines and oaks reaching for the heavens.  
As she scanned the intersection, she found herself once more faced with a few decisions:

If she went to the left, she ran risk of being ambushed by the coupe.

If she hooked a right there was the off chance of running slam-bang back into the little town she'd just left, -(which seemed to be the stomping range of the metallic bloodhound.)

That left only a gnarly looking dirt road sitting across the way, and even that was blocked by an old chain-link fence and gates secured with a dingy chain.

Of course, some years back there'd been another mountain road, and part of it had been corded off by a heavy wooden cross arm...

With a little reversing and a quick change into Low, she screamed into the gates, snapping the chain like dental floss in a shower of sparks, and leaving the gates flopping open like the crumpled wings of a dead butterfly.

*

It was just after she cleared the entrance and put some distance between her that those same gates banged shut...


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

-Thursday, November 22, 1998, 2:40 A.M.-

A few hours before this, the road leading into the old Clangwell mine had been a set of wooded switchbacks eroding into the history books like the decrepit mining trucks and bulldozers in the open pit below, that only two decades back had shook the ground with their labors.

The calm was changed ever so slightly when a little scarlet flash came bounding over the grade, her aging whitewalls clinging to the snow-dampened Georgia clay and her ancient V-8 groaning.

Surprisingly, this new path was actually boding well for Christine as she scooted along under shards of fresh moonlight. She didn't know what her plans would be when she reached the foot of the summit, but with her mirror empty for the time she was glad to be pawing the gravel and the soft, squidgy dirt, which to her amazement felt even better than new pavement.

A dead silence fell as she reached the top level of the mine. The moonlight cast strange shadows over the rusted tin buildings, as well as the shattered windshields and dirt encrusted tracks of the abandoned earthmovers, whose corpses loomed menacingly over her.

Adding to this, she'd cut her lamps on the off chance of their glow being spotted, forcing her to run by the shifting light as she made her way towards a gaping repair shed.

She was a few yards away when she heard the whistle. She paused for a moment to listen as the echo bounced off of the quarry walls.

"Blow your fuse box out, crumb." she thought, gauging the sound to be too soft to worry.

As the sound faded, she started again, soon creeping into the inky darkness. There she parked, idling down, then cutting her engine to rest.

Barely a minute passed when she heard the whistle again, somewhat louder than before. It sounded out in a longer blast, it's tone wavering.

If she'd have had breathe to hold, she would've.

After a moment the sound died, but instead of silence, a low breeze kicked up,groaning through rusted metal around her.

Suddenly a rusted bolt on another building outside gave way, and a piece of sheet metal crashed to earth, jolting her.

Before she could react, the whistle sounded again, even louder. And though it still seemed far off, Christine started up, hoping that the wind outside would muffle her engine note.

She sat for a while, idling softly as she could as she listened hard to the wind. An uneasiness took hold as it seemed to die down as quickly as it'd started.

This feeling grew as the air grew suddenly graveyard quiet.

A moment passed when from somewhere outside, she heard a man's voice, its tone raspy and low.

"Chriii-ss-TIIINNE!" it warbled, the distance hard to pin.

"Chriss-TIII-ii-IIIINE! You can't escape me, Christine. I ain't gonna let you rest."

"Eat my exhaust." She thought. Having attended at least two horror movies with Arnie, she knew better than to head towards a creepy voice.

She sat but a moment longer as silence resumed.

Then right in front of her three headlights snapped on, and the whistle blasted so loud it nearly smashed her windshield.

Christine shot out of the building in reverse, the beast firewalling after her, hot on her nose.

In a split second she eyed the lip of the second pit in her mirror rushing towards her, giving her a single idea for escape.

With a mighty effort she heaved to the left, engine wailing...the gap narrowing. Then just before the two cars got completely past each other, she cleared the path with only an inch.

With a crunch and a squall, the old battleship lurched over the bluff, first slithering down, then wrenching sideways and launching into a roll.

Its special bunkers, (barely broken in as armor), doubled as weights, keeping it in an even tumble, door over door, shards of tortured steel peeling off and flying everywhere.

***

Christine stayed on afterwards, watching...waiting. She'd already ignored a scene like this before, and a few half-steps later the trouble flared up again. This time she wasn't about to roll away without making sure she'd not be followed.  
Fate seemed to smile on her then, because up from the pit came a jarring explosion as fuel from the coupe's ruptured lines hit the red-hot transmission casing.

Only then did she turn, with her tires slowly popping and crackling over loose pebbles.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

-Thursday, November 22, 1998, 3:49 A.M.-

While the battle raged on that night, miles away, Arnie sat in the partial silence of a closed shop, his tail end parked comfortably in Dodge's old swivel chair, and his feet propped up on the desk. As he sat there mindlessly watching paid programming on the little office television, a bit of nostalgia had crept over him:  
How long had it been since those nights at Darnell's? Nineteen years, he guessed.

Ah, could he remember the scene…

There wasn't much money in his pockets in those days. Luckily despite the gruff attitude and the dirty dealing, Will was kind enough to let them in, a gawky little dweeb and a smoke-belching wreck.

He'd be sitting in a wooden high-back, and across that big wooden desk, with papers scattered around on top, each with their own displays of grease and coffee stains, sat Darnell, big as life, puffing on a fat cigar, and sometimes pulling off of a bottle of bootleg hooch.

Of course, even this was only on special occasions. Normally he made do with a can of Iron City beer.

Always Will'd have the transistor blasting, the local sports station dialed in and being hauled into the receiver by an old wire hangar, which he'd long ago found when he too had cautiously stepped into an empty wire factory he'd bought just after 'Korea.

No matter what sport was being broadcast, Will'd be shouting curses into the little box, giving the Away team down the road every time they scored, and chewing out the Home team for sloppy teamwork.

Arnie, meanwhile, would be quietly resting up after one of the many "errands" that Will sent him on, usually at the helm of his big Cadillac, -one of those special numbers with a false bottom in the trunk and the spare mounted on a rack underneath the vehicle.

While he rested, his eyes would be glued to the shop window, calmly gazing out into Stall Twenty, the little berth that for a few blissful months had been shared by him and Christine.

"Who'd have thought it? Me having a brother. Me having a brother that was a MECHANIC." He thought to himself as his trip down memory lane dissolved into a survey of the quiet sea of concrete outside the door.

To say Arnie was impressed by this just wouldn't get it. The correct term was 'blasted'. And taking into count the condition of the place drove him into pure awe.

All the tools were kept up…

The floors, thought grease stained, were cleanly swept...

Then there was the fact that there was a wrecker three years older than Christine sitting in a corner berth, almost in factory condition.  
Last but not least, the thing that really hammered him was the fact that Dodge's name was written in broad black letters on the bottom of the deed.

"Darn. Wish I'd have thought to come here." He thought, suddenly realizing that back in those old days he could have simply moved in with his uncle after restoring his little car. That would have saved him loads of trouble.

"Oh well, at least he'll get to live right." He thought, casting his gaze on a picture of Dodge posing with his girlfriend. It was only a Polaroid, but it'd been painstakingly trimmed to fit a handmade aluminum frame.

Of course, this went out the stovepipe when he remembered where his little brother was, -and not even in his own body.

In a fit of worry, he flicked on the big base radio Dodge'd long ago tuned to the same channel as the one he'd seen in the cab of Dodge's war machine.

The old Philco came on with a blur of static. Very much a greenhorn with this method of communication, Arnie looked around until in one of the drawers he found a book of radio codes Fred had once written with dodge's help.

Cautiously he picked up the mike and pulled the trigger.

"Home base calling Snowbird, Home base calling Snowbird…are you there Snowbird?" he said, using Dodge's handle.

For a ten whole seconds the radio was dead.

A little unnerved by this, he tried again, "Home base calling Snowbird…Do you copy?!"  
Still the line was silent.

Right about then Arnie let the mike down, his heart filling with unease and a tinge of sadness.

Just before he let his head drop, he noticed a small envelope on a filing cabinet next to a stereo cassette player. For some reason, this peaked his interest.

Carefully he took it down and with a 'borrowed' finger he slowly scrunched open the envelope:

Inside the envelope was a plain cassette tape with the words, "Start here" on the A side. With this was a neatly folded letter, which smelled of a sweet perfume.

Against his better judgement Arnie unfolded the message and read.

"Dear Dodge,  
I noticed that my singing seemed to help you when we brought you home from the hospital. Enclosed is a little something in case you ever need help when I'm not around.  
Signed,

Elvira."

Something stirred in Arnie's mind. In a blur of inspiration he took the tape, and after a second of checking one of the tape decks to see how to put the thing in, he popped the tape into a slot and turned the volume up high. Then he took up the mike.

"Home-base calling Snow Bird. If you're monitoring this station, please stand by for a special broadcast." he said. Then he brought the mike up near the speakers, pressed the trigger, hit PLAY on the stereo and crossed his fingers…


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

-Thursday, November 22, 1998, 4:52 A.M.-

'Many horror stories have been spun from crashes. One of the most-told tales involves dragging a vehicle out, only to discover the radio still going.  
This very yarn was being replayed at the time, with the part of the radio being played by a beat up Cobra CB.

The dial, as it happens WAS tuned in, but the party that was being hailed was dying like a cheap watch battery.

Speaking of which, the battery powering the radio itself only had a few minutes left before the flames consumed it when the call came, the sound resonating out of the unit's tinny little speaker.

Seconds after Arnie hit PLAY, the fiery cab of the demolished coupe was for what seemed the final time met with music:

A single guitar started to strum softly, and then in the darkness its gentle tones were accompanied by a girl's voice.

It was a love song, one heard long ago by the ears of a beaten young man.

While the flames raged on, the girl singing the tune began to build steam, throwing more and more of her heart into it until her booming voice reverberated off of every centimeter of burning upholstery and tortured metal.

***

As the music rang out, something happened:

The ignition lock, empty since the final impact knocked the key out, turned forward to the START position.  
Even without the key little pulses of electricity sparked through exposed wires, causing the indicator light to come on, it's glow marred by the smoke.

Suddenly the starter button depressed, awaking the starter with an anemic squeal, first once, then again, until… CONTACT!

The coupe started with a jolt, gears smacking between first and second and the twisted spider web of exhaust pipes blasting deep black soot at the same rate displayed by a tractor pull machine, while the upholstery and bodywork blazed on.

About four miles away from the mine, Christine was screaming along, radio digging out to Richie Valens. For almost getting killed again, she felt surprisingly mellow.

Of course, feeling loose didn't dull her common sense. Now that the coupe was out of the way, she knew she had to put miles behind her.

***  
-Thursday, November 22, 1998, 5:23 A.M.-

As the night began to heave into its last death rolls, the miles seemed to meld together.

Christine had been in fair shape earlier, but somewhere along the line she'd began to feel weak…frightened, even.

A surprising winter rain storm had set in, lightly at first, but by this time it was so heavy it blurred her sight.

Her engine strained for lack of fuel…headlights dimming as the alternator slowed and the battery wound down.

The storm was washing the snow off, but even still, in the dying beams of her headlights every rise in the road looked almost vertical, and it felt as though death was skulking round every black-ice spotted curve as she battled for grip.

"Why'd I do this?" She thought, "I've been skidding and sliding all through this run, and yet I keep fighting this two-lane ice rink! I ought to be finding shelter".

A few miles after this idea formed, she was surprised to find a level run, and what's more she saw the flashing bulbs of a little sign advertising a combination all-night bar and full-service gas station on the other side of a three way intersection.

This brought a little joy to her aching metal, and with her engine starting to sputter she crawled over the crossing.

She was thankful to see that the driveway went into a tight decline, allowing her to coast off and into the tiny dirt lot.  
Unfortunately as she coasted up to the high test, the place was dead empty. A large sign painted on an old sheet read, "Closed for Holidays".

Now her only option was to gurgle and sput around to the back of the building, with only her starter to move her as the engine had just ran completely out of gas.

Once she was within the darkness of a run of trees behind the building, she coughed to a halt and set her transmission in Park.

A few minutes later she was sitting quietly… engine having already ticked cool, save for a few pops and clunks.  
All around her she heard a chorus of birds and foraging creatures. From somewhere in the trees an owl hooted.

The storm had gave out some time earlier, and ahead of her she watched as the mountains brightened as the sunrise of a Thanksgiving morning lit on the horizon like a dot of gold paint.

She was just settling in for the weekend of rest that lay ahead when a there was a rumble like distant thunder.

"It can't be". She thought, her mind flashing back to the mine.

Deep down, though, she knew all too well it could. She even remembered hearing the same words being flung out an open car window about her.

Suddenly the form of the building was outlined faintly by a bleary orange and white light, and she could smell the heavy rancor of burning oil and paint.  
From a distance she heard something like a choir singing in time to a chugging drum and a twanging guitar in the dying nightlight, the tones braying through the smoke damaged speaker.

As the light shone brighter, the rumble grew louder… turning into a sort of howl.

The ground began to shake, sending cracks through the walls of the building and causing a stack of empty boxes to topple.

A neon clock above the back door, long thought dead by the owners, abruptly sprang to life, its thin blue neon shining brightly in the gloom and its hands spinning forward in a blur.

Christine could only sit helplessly, her only chance being that the beast would simply slow up and turn off somewhere.

To her horror, it never slowed. Instead, it surged over the road and blew through the intersection, streaking down the grade like a meteor.

Before she could think, there was a blinding eruption of plywood and chunks of cedar from the bar as the coupe pierced through the building.

And though what remained of it didn't exactly have the same presence as it'd had once, it was still a traumatic visual:

The treads had been blown off by the heat, and what remained of the tires was rapidly disintegrating, sending a mix of dirt and shards of rubber flying.

The once towering grille was now a dust-covered wreck, and clouds of steam boiled out of numerous cracks in the radiator beneath.

Oddly enough the paint, or what left of it, gleamed bright as a button.

Speaking of gleam, only one of the eight headlights was lit, glowering with a dull orange light though the mangled front bumper, which was hanging on solely by one set of carriage bolts.

The mighty engine, now glowing cherry red and about to blow, thrummed and rattled with smoke pouring from every crack and seam, engulfing the doomed vehicle, while the twisted pipes spewed short blasts of burnt oil with every gear change.

Most of the lower body from the A Pillars back had been wrenched off in the roll, including both doors and one of the walls of the bed.

Lastly, the bearings had worn out, making them run hot and causing smoke to billow up from the differential casings, all the while emitting a high pitched squeal that almost sounded human as the wheels spun with crazed abandon.

Just before that battered heap made contact, its whistle screamed with a final blast, and then its massive snout plowed headlong into in her side, its bulk heaving her into two trees with such force it ripped through her as easy as breaking a toothpick with an axe, albeit a dull one.

Finally it came to a stop, its front bunker wedged betwixt the trees, headlight still flickering.

After a half second the smoldering ash heap that covered it flared up again, flames being fed this time by the second tank, which had survived the first blast, only to be gashed open by part of Christine's right-side frame rail.


	30. Epilogue

Epilogue

-Thursday, November 22, 1998, 6:47 A.M.-

That morning, at exactly 6:15 A.M., a Farmer across the way from the roadhouse had heard the sound of the whistle and the explosion, and later saw the smoke. Shortly afterward he'd called the authorities.

Now, the police, fire and rescue units had arrived with a field pumper, a heavy-duty crane and a flatbed truck, their dull paint jobs almost blending in with the dimness save for the broad orange, red and blue beams that searched the surrounding area from their perch atop their roofs.

Luckily for them by that time the fire had gone out, leaving in its wake two ash-covered trees and some smoldering tall grass. All that was left to do was paperwork and clearing the wreckage.

As the crane operator cautiously raised the heap, (Which now resembled something funded by the NEA), the investigating officer, Detective Rudolph Junkins, Jr., glumly surveyed the burnt machine.

His gloomy demeanor changed when he caught a glance at the crumpled license plate, a barely noticeable smirk played across his lips.  
He'd waited years to find his old man's killer, and as the workmen relayed heavy chains across the pile, he knew that he could then take peace in the fact that someone'd saved him the time.

The only question was, what happened to this mysterious figure? And more importantly, what happened to the vehicle that punched through the tavern and left those patches of orange paint on the rubble?

A local man, a Mr. Beauregard Duke, would later be questioned due to his ownership of a large, orange stock car,(which was a familiar sight around town), but when the detectives inspected the vehicle, they found no signs of damage, nor did they find any case of a repaint.

Furthermore, the vehicle in question was discovered to be too short to have made the holes, which were reported to be Ten feet tall and eight feet wide. Further evidence showed sets of tire prints belonging to a heavy vehicle of indeterminate origin.

While this question played in the good detective's brain, miles away a young man had been taken to the hospital after being found unconscious on the shop floor of a garage by a passerby.

Strangely, when paramedics arrived on the scene, there was nobody else around. The only noticeable things were that the man's heart rate was slow, and he reeked of smoke, oil, and burnt rubber...


End file.
